The girl's breath tore through her throat as she sprinted between the trees. Branches whipped her face, scratching her skin raw. Behind her, the sound of snapping wood and heavy footsteps grew louder, each one closer than the last.
Her name was Naira.
She had lived her whole life on this land, where the old stones bore carvings of her people's stories. Now those same stones were shattered, smeared with blood, and scattered across the dirt. The elders had ordered an evacuation five days ago, forcing them to relocate hastily.
But, even in their new camp, dangers were abundant. They didn't manage to get far away.
That's why gathering food, which used to be a simple task any hunter or gatherer could do, was now akin to a death sentence.
Especially because that cruel bastard refused to help them, far too absorbed in living out his tyrannical fantasies.
