In under a minute from when the fight began, Rían dropped from the tree, the ground under his boots leaving deep impressions upon impact. After readjusting the faerie he now held in his arms, he observed the woman’s ashen face, her subtle gasps for breath, the sweat beading her skin. With terrified eyes peeled up at him, she looked close to death and they both knew it. But did she have to die?
Laying her down at the base of the tree amid the shredded remains of yarei, and the faerie corpse that the devils had managed to kill, Rían looked over her again, wondering if maybe he could do something to help her. After all, he had healed Chaz of his wounds. Yet, there was a slight difference. The prince’s injuries were physical punctures made by the iron blade. Her wounds were something else.
A
