Syltorian

She ran. Twigs snapped under her feet and thorns tore at her bare skin as she hurtled through the forest. Startled birds took flight, and animals withdrew into the undergrowth as she passed. She ran, panicked, as her lungs burned in protest. There was no pursuit, but she did not care. All she knew was that she needed to be away, far away from the massacre at Redleaf. And so she ran on, blindly, into the deep forests of the Eldeen. Behind her, the once thriving village lay in ruins. Its inhabitants were dead. Men, women, children. The werewolves had first ambushed the hunters and loggers who left their homes daily to venture into the wood