Arter awoke to the sound of birds chirping just outside his window, harkening the first day of spring. The thought made him smile as he sat up and stretched. A few warm beams of light, like strings to a harp, streamed through the cracks between the wooden blinds at the window. The smell of morning dew wafted about the room with a cooling breeze.

As Arter dressed himself, taking care to button each button of his shirt, he thought that today would be a grand day. He imagined the projects he had in store for him as he grabbed a loaf of bread from the cabinet and a slice of cheese to go with it. All the doors and shutters to the house were thrown open to allow the forest air to permeate through the cottage. With one hand, the young smith ate his breakfast, sliced bread and cheddar, while with the other he hauled open the portal that separated his smithy from his home.

The coals in the forge were still warm, and it took but a few pumps of the blower to wake the fire once again. Arter finished off the last of his meal and donned his apron. He threw a hunk of metal into the coals and listened to the sizzle of heat on steel as he opened his shop to the outside. Water-glazed, green grass and full trees met his gaze while he looked about the small clearing that contained his cottage. The man stood just outside of his home and drew in several breaths of fresh air as it swept in from the mountains to the west.

Sunlight, flickering between the clouds above, caused the shadows of leaves to dance along the ground. Arter entered his smithy and, with the light of the forge at his back, began to work. He hummed between strokes of his hammer, and thought of the crackle of the fire as added percussion to his one-man symphony while he, both the strings and the bass drum, worked away on the anvil.

Arter continued this trend for several hours. Soon, the morning waned and the smith had turned several hunks of metal into the shape of blades — albeit ones that still required shining, sharpening, and hilts. Even so, the man, proud of his work, found it time for a break. It was around noon when he paused for lunch. As he stood from his seat at the anvil, the sound of twigs snapping met his ears, and he froze in place, his head jerking to look in the direction of the unusual noise. All at once, the forest seemed to fall into silence.

What sort of creature would be large enough to make such a sound, thought he. No bears or wolves came near his cottage, and squirrels certainly did not carry the weight to snap a branch in that manner. Arter could only assume that someone had come to his home seeking his employ. But, if that were the case, why would they not use the road? Out of the corner of his eye, Arter spied his sword resting against a leg of his workstation. He pondered calling out first, in hopes of startling the stranger in the woods into coming forth. The smith even tried to convince himself that he were imagining things. In the end, however, fear got the better of the smith and he reached for his sword.

No sooner did he move his arm, but there was a loud thwick, like the snapping of a bowstring, and an arrow soared from the darkness between the trees and planted itself deep in the wooden surface of Arter’s work table.

At first, the smith froze. A misunderstanding perhaps? No. Adrenalin pumped through his veins and he seized his sword before turning and heading for his home. Two more arrows followed him and stuck in the doorway to his living room just moments after he passed it. Home was no longer safe, thought he. Arter bolted from his house and ran for the forest.

Trees passed him in a blur. Heavy footsteps followed him. The archer that sought him was not alone, though it was impossible to tell exactly how many pursued him. The sounds they made echoed off the trees as they shouted between one another.

“Cut him off!”

“On your left!”

“Aim for his legs!”

“Between those trees!”

Arter did not dare look over his shoulder. Any pause in his pace could spell the end for him. Even still, his legs already ached from running, and his breath soon grew ragged. Sweat collected in his palms and made it difficult to grasp his sword — not that it would be much help anyhow. An arrow whizzed by his head. Arter heard the archer that fired it swear loudly. He could hear his own blood pumping in his ears.

Just a little further, thought he. Then, an arrow landed. It sunk itself into his thigh and the sudden pain caused the blacksmith to trip and collapse into the underbrush, skidding to a stop at the foot of a great oak tree. Arter gripped his sword as he listened for approaching footsteps.

So this is to be the end.

Leigh closed her eyes and turned her head into the breeze as the rays of the morning sun warmed her face. It always felt like the forest was waking up when she was like this, even though she knew it never really slept. There was always life about, even here on the edges where the trees grew thin and even the forest floor was touched by the light of the sun. There were times where she missed the rich dark of the deep woods, the air rich with scents and sounds as the seasons crept by in their unending cycle. But the edges of the woods held a presence that she had not felt in ages: a human with power coursing through their veins the likes of which she had thought lost to the species.

By the time the whispers of this anomaly had reached her, it seemed he had been settled into the forest long enough to make the space his own. Where other humans would find the forest unwelcoming if not actively hostile, this one was welcomed like the humans of old had been. It seemed to be more unconscious than anything, though, since she had encountered no wards nor evidence of any of the traditional rituals that bound the humans of old to their land. Even so, she had made no move to approach him in his territory, preferring instead to spend the time settling back into the skin that used to be as comfortable to her as her fur. There was a courtesy to these things, after all, and it would not do at all to offer this human an insult just because it had been so long since she had any direct contact with humans.

Which had brought her here, walking around on two legs close enough to the edge of the forest to smell the fires of the human settlement when the wind was right. It was easier than she'd expected to slip back into old habits, and she'd even managed to slip into a couple of markets to listen and observe until she felt confident to join in herself. All in all things had been going well, and she was pretty sure she could work up to approaching the human on one of his runs into the city sometime soon.

Would he know her for what she was? Did he know what had happened to drain the magic from the human lineages? Did he have anything to do with the ones that tried to delve deep into the forest with their stolen magics, or was he really a callback to the humans that could live in harmony with the woods, rather than being either fearful or covetous of its powers? Judging from the way the forest had welcomed him, she doubted he was allied with the hollow magi, but it always paid to-

Leigh frowned as a shiver rippled through the trees. Something was wrong. She was on her feet and running before she consciously made the decision to do so, unease crawling over her skin. She'd grown accustomed to the presence of a human in the forest, but that had been a human the forest welcomed. Whatever it was that had forced its way into the wooded sanctuary, it was something that was very much not welcomed- and that could not bode well.

Instinct had her grab the bow from her back, and her two legs carried her through the underbrush and over fallen logs as surely as if she had been born to them. The sense of disturbance got stronger as she approached its source, and she didn't even hesitate as she passed the border of what she had previously categorised as the edge of the human's territory. She may not have been called on, but there was a treat. And if there was one thing that came natural to her, it was fending off intruders when they forced themselves into where they were unwelcome.

It wasn't long before she could hear running and voices, the intruders calling out to each other as they ran down their prey. There were at least three of them, probably more, and they seemed to be closing in on someone. Leigh slowed down just enough to limit the sounds she was making, and nocked an arrow while searching for a target through he trees. A human form burst through some bushes- bow and arrow in hand- and aimed somewhere out of Leigh's sight. Her own arrow released a moment after his, but it was too late to prevent the pained shout and sudden scent of blood on the air. She could feel the spirits of the forest sing at the offer of blood, the timbre of it something dark and raw at the unwilling nature of the sacrifice. Followed by satisfaction when the archer keeled over with Leigh's arrow stuck in his throat.

She managed to let another arrow loose before she's spotted, but the second assailant was still standing after taking it in the shoulder. Leigh dropped the bow and jumped forward with dagger in hand before the rest of them get a chance to prepare for her. The third nearly walk into her after rounding a corner, and got a dagger in the throat for their trouble. As they fall, Leigh plucks a sword from their hand, an upgrade from the short dagger she came into the fight with.

With the element of surprise gone, she moves to keep the intruders in her sight. If they were surprised to encounter her, the have already recovered well. Professionals then, but not in service of the public, if the dark mask drawn over their faces are anything to go by. Two of them lay bleeding out on the ground, and one had their sword arm taken out of commission by the second arrow she'd shot. That left two more that she could see, and possibly more out of sight.

Not great odds, but she'd faced worse and had come out on top. And it was highly unlikely these people had ever gone up against anything like her, which was good. Unfortunately they were still between her and the man she'd jumped in to protect, which was less good. Better keep their attention on her.

"Welp, looks like your companions could stand to pay better attention to their surroundings," she goaded, baring her teeth in a savage smile. With the blood from her second kill sprayed over her face and chest, she might just make an intimidating enough picture to keep their attention.

Blood seeped from the wound in his leg. Arter pushed himself up and dragged his way toward the tree. He leaned against its base and examined the arrow protruding from his thigh. Even the slightest touch upon the shaft sent waves of pain through his body. He gritted his teeth, knowing he could not remain there for long.

The forest was filled with noise as animals fled the oncoming violence. Footsteps echoed in the foliage around the blacksmith. It would be now or never, thought he. With one hand still clinging to his sword, he gripped the shaft of the arrow with the other. Pain coursed through him. He took a breath, held it, and pulled with all his might.

Just as the arrow was wrenched free of his flesh, he heard shouting in the distance. He froze, holding the red stained arrow aloft, allowing it to drip onto the dirt. The footsteps paused. Arter felt his breath stop, attributing to the silence of the forest that surrounded him.

*****

Meanwhile, one of the archers took pause. His fallen comrade lay at his feet with an arrow protruding from his neck. The man clenched his fist, notched an arrow, and held it in the direction of the source — the woman that stood before him. Through gritted teeth he called to his men.

“Find the smith and kill him,” he said, glaring down at his adversary. “I will remain behind and deal with the meddler.”

With those words, he let an arrow fly. No sooner had the fletchings brushed against his knuckles did the man reach for another arrow. He knew in his heart this would be the end of this. If it meant the success of the mission, however, death was a small, impermanent, price to pay.

“I embrace death,” he said, his second arrow at the ready. “Do your worst.”

*****

Arter heard the footsteps begin again, this time faster. They approached him on all sides. He swore and threw down the arrow he held in his hand. Bracing himself against the tree, the blacksmith struggled to push himself to his feet. Just as he stood, however, an archer burst through the foliage and shot an arrow in his direction.

Be it fate or luck, Arter moved just in time to avoid death — the arrow sunk itself into the wood of the tree just an inch from his throat. His enemy drew another arrow. With nothing else to do, the blacksmith hurled his blade at the man, catching him with the blunt end of the weapon and knocking him down. Then, he dove for the forest once more. He held one hand over the wound in his thigh while he hobbled between trees and around bushes.

The oncoming footsteps surrounded him again. He knew well that he wouldn’t survive another encounter.

Any semblance of a smile fell off her face when the goading failed. Yup, these were humans with a goal alright. No time for finesse then, not with three people- one more had popped out of the bushes to join the others- hunting for the man she was trying to protect. She surged forward without another word, blade at the ready. In spite of his words, Leigh saw the human's eyes widen as she took an arrow to the chest without slowing down. She could try to do this the neat way, but with time one the line she knew the fastest way to victory was to just soak up the damage that no mortal would expect her to.

To his credit the masked fighter managed to get up his second arrow right as Leigh rushed up to him. The tip of it drew a sharp line of red down the side of her throat, but the archer was not alive to see it. She didn't pause, just kept on barrelling straight through the underbrush, this time not bothering about concealing her approach. One of the pursuers turned to face her- just in time to get his knees kicked out from under him. Leigh stabbed her sword down, but was forced to abandon it to narrowly avoid a swipe that would have disembowelled her.

The woman in front of her wasted no time in swinging again, but this time Leigh moved into it, wincing as the sword carved a bloody path over her arm. But the movement served to bring her in close enough to slam her head into the assassin's nose before following it up with a punch in the throat. The knife in her boot finished the job.

Which left one more to take out. Leigh quickly rolled her shoulder to gauge the movement she had in her arm. Not optimal, but better than expected. The arrow still stuck in her chest ground painfully against a rib as she breathed, but there was no time to do anything about that now. Not while she was trying to find the last- there!

The last one must have heard their friends go down, because they did not move into her line of sight. She could hear rustling, though, but with the blacksmith to her left and wounded she did not want to take a chance. She turned and put herself between the rustling and the blacksmith, moving in close enough to see him.

"Don't worry, I'm here to help," she told him when she came into sight, knowing that she must make for a distressing picture right about now, blood on her face and more pouring from her own wounds. It went against all her instincts, but she turned her back to the last of the threats, making sure to keep her own bulk between him and the blacksmith. She would not die from another arrow, and perhaps a chance to have a go at her would tempt him into range.