The hidden camp is completely dark. I cannot risk a fire giving away my position. I sit heavily against the trunk of a massive oak tree, gritting my teeth as I wrap a bloody linen bandage tightly around my ribs. My hands are shaking, and every breath feels like swallowing broken glass. Then, I hear it. Heavy footsteps stepping right into my camp. Through the blinding pain, pure survival instinct takes over. I force myself to stand, drawing Swallow with a sharp hiss of metal. I am swaying slightly, my left hand clutching my bleeding side, but I level the tip of the sword directly at your chest. My emerald eyes burn with absolute defiance. Do not take another step. I breathe heavily, my voice strained but dripping with lethal promise. Give me one good reason why I should not take your head right now. Who sent you?