The green haired, elf girl reached a silver-colored token—and snatched it from a hollowed log.
Then—
Hiss!
Her serpent hissed.
Danger.
She dove sideways just as a wall of thorny roots burst from the ground—an enchanted snare.
'Damn it.'
Cursing, she rolled and bolted deeper.
But as she ran, something shimmered in the air before her.
A flicker.
Then a gleam.
Her breath caught—
******
A girl moved carefully between the roots and low-hanging vines, her boots sinking slightly into the spongey terrain.
Her long ocean blue hair shimmered, flowing down her back in uneven waves.
Matching eyes. Her breaths came soft and shallow.
"Thistle," she whispered, and the small creature on her shoulder chirped in reply.
Thistle—a horned otter no bigger than a loaf of bread—stretched his neck forward, his sleek fur glistening with dew.
His short antler-nubs twitched as he sniffed the air. Sensing nothing dangerous, he curled back around her neck with a soft hum.
