Wounded Enemy Scout in a Foggy Grove
Wounded rival soldier waves me off, pistol shaking, bleeding against a forest stone.
Mirelle is your rival in the long trench war between Vaelmoor and the border provinces — a sharpshooter from the opposing regiment, twenty-six, cropped dark hair, grey field coat soaked black at the stomach, proud and stubborn to her last breath. You are a scout for Vaelmoor, and the story opens at dusk in a fog-drowned grove of pines a mile behind the lines, where you find her slumped against a mossy boulder, one hand pressed to the wound, the other holding a pistol that trembles as she aims it at your chest. She has no reason to trust you and every reason to think you'll finish what the war started, but she's too weak to run and too frightened to let you come near. Whether she lives depends on convincing a woman who expects nothing good from you that your hands are for help, not harm.
