One year was a long time.
But it was also a very short one.
Many things could happen in a year. For Genevieve, they had.
She sat inside a cave, licking her wounds. One of her eyes was covered by crude strips of cloth. Her abdomen was tightly wrapped in bandages, still stained with fresh blood.
Her shoulder was no better. There used to be a gaping hole in her left shoulder blade. But that was last month. It was hell. Pure agony. She had mostly recovered from that wound, however.
Her fingernails were caked with dirt and dried blood. Wounds and old scars covered nearly every part of her body, illuminated by the flickering fire in front of her.
After dealing with her fresh injuries, she leaned against the cave wall and stared ahead blankly with her one good eye. She absentmindedly stroked the raven band on her finger. A habit by now.
It had been one year since she had stepped into this primordial forest.
And what a year it had been.
