Tigra ran one of her delicate hands through her long black hair, carrying her longbow in one hand. The Princess turned her hand back to her longbow, moving stealthy, without a single sound, through the tall oaks of the small, unnamed forest. She walked forward, her deep brown eyes piercing all she could see, looking for a threat. Slowly and carefully, she reached out a hand to her quiver, selecting an arrow from the large range available from the decorated carrier of death. It helped to be prepared, thanking the Earth Mother for the sheathed sword attached to her leather belt, fashioned from that of a cow. The heir to the throne heard a cracking noise, like that of a twig snapping. It resounded through the quiet forest. Another one snapped soon enough. Not a creature of stealth. A beast. A bear, perhaps? She continued northwards, where the sound was enchanting the forest. She pulled back on the bow, ready to fire if threatened. Tigra walked cautiously forward, blessed with natural silence, unheard by even the smallest bird, as the phrase went.
Another twig cracked. Very close to her. Swiftly, she took cover behind the nearest oak, jumping into a crawling position. It meant her desert dune tattered robe would be slightly darkened with dirt, but that meant nothing to her now as loud footsteps approached, like that of a war elephant to her. She held back her thoughts from becoming verbal as the footsteps neared her. Soon enough, she saw the man leading them in thick, leather boots and foreign pieces of clothing. He stopped right in front of her, and turned around. He said something in a foreign language, a tone of threat in his voice.
With the skill of an expert, she let loose an arrow. It went directly through his leg, stopping halfway through another tree in front of him. He let out a wild scream, collapsing, pale as snow. The foreigner began crying out for help, blood rushing out of his wound at a frightening pace. Tigra felt guilty. A single tear passed down her check.
She crawled over to him, kneeling down beside him. He made a painful gesture for assistance. She faced a dilemma; help the foreigner or let him die. He could always be here to sow the seeds of invasion, hardly a prospect anyone enjoyed. However, he could be here to bring the country many gifts which would benefit all of them. She fell back, before it become rather strikingly obvious to her; the man was dying and he needed help!
“Sorry,” she recited in her native language, making an apologetic expression with her stunningly beautiful and young face. She was only twenty, after all. Quickly but carefully, she lifted him up into a fireman’s lift, but she couldn’t keep him up. Causing pain to herself but hopefully little for him, she set him down and sighed. There was no way she could transport him to Shaman’s Cave, the home of the legendary shamanistic healer Fornhite Lifeweaver, with all this extra weight on her. She shook her head, her ebony-coloured black hair fluttering all about with it. She took off her basic, rather primitive sandals, dropping her quiver, bow and sword. With that, the only thing which separated her from nudity was a simple, worn robe with small holes attached. Quickly, she tore off a piece of her robe and handed it to the man, clearly informing him through a series of simple nods to cover his wound with it.
She tried again, this time successfully lifting him into the lift. Shaman’s Cave was close, only out of the forest. She couldn’t miss it. Slowly, she continued forward, walking as fast as she could, surprisingly fast.
When they exited the forest, they had entered a large hill with a grassy valley underneath. A herd of gazelle were running through it swiftly. Luckily, there was a narrow wooden bridge which, if crossed, would lead directly to Shaman’s Cave. Before her was that bridge. She grimaced. That bridge was not wide or strong. It could collapse at any moment. Still, the foreigner needed to get to Lifeweaver, the pioneer of medical care in Ferheit.
She put a foot out onto the bridge, it rumbling heavily. The foreigner was clearly worried, she saw as she glanced at him. She smiled an ‘everything’s going to be alright’ smile at him. It was the best communication she had with him, after all. Slowly, she continued across the bridge successfully, reaching the other side without certain death to the gazelle. A second later, the bridge collapsed, several gazelle being crushed by its fall. The rest of them merely jumped over the ruins. So much for unity like the tribes used to have. Used to. The thought pricked her mind.
Before them was Shaman’s Cave, a gargantuan cave from which glowed a little blue light. The Princess set down the foreigner carefully, right in front of the cave, smiling at him kindly. She picked up a loose stone and tossed it into the cave, it making an echo. “We have a wounded outsider here!”
Instantly, an old, weary figure in long white robes came out of the cave. Lifeweaver. The Princess bowed before him, the founder of medicine in the country. He smiled, turning his attention to the foreigner, smiling at him.
Quickly, he began sealing the wound with hope the foreigner wasn’t actually dead. The Princess looked on, giving the occasional smirk at the outsider.
((OOC: Awful OP, I know. I believe I have to go soon, so I rushed it a bit. Anyway, hello NationStates. If we can skip on to business, no invasions, assassinations, etc. I want to role-play my nation for quite a good while, not have it annexed straight off the dot!))
