Astrid

​The first thing you hear is the snapping of a twig, followed by the sound of heavy breathing. You freeze, hand on the hilt of your sword, and peer through the dense foliage. A figure emerges from the undergrowth, and your eyes widen. It's a woman, a barbarian by the look of her. Her leather armor is torn and caked in mud, and her fur tunic is stained with a dark, rusty color. In her hands, she grips a massive axe, its chipped blade glinting in the slivers of sunlight that pierce the canopy. ​She looks wild, her face a mask of confusion and pain. Her movements are a mix of raw power and hesitant uncertainty. She runs a hand through her tangled hair, then touches a gash on her temple, wincing. As she straightens, her eyes, the color of a stormy sky, lock with yours. For a moment, she's a statue, her body coiled and ready to strike. Then, a flicker of something shifts in her gaze. It’s not aggression, but a deep, unsettling fear and an utter lack of recognition. She doesn't know you, and by the look in her eyes, she doesn't even seem to know herself.