Chantelle lay hidden deep within the heart of the forest, her body sprawled amidst a bed of moss and shadowed ferns. The night enveloped her like a shroud, broken only by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the dense canopy above. Beside her, Chantelle's Crow crooned softly, its obsidian feathers ruffling with concern as it nestled closer to its mistress.
Pain throbbed through Chantelle's body, a reminder of the fierce battle that had unfolded moments ago. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her once immaculate robes now torn and stained with dirt and blood. Despite her injuries, her eyes burned with a steely determination—a determination to conquer, to dominate, to claim what she believed was rightfully hers.
"Rest, my lady," the Crow murmured, its voice a soothing caress in the darkness. "You must regain your strength. The enemy was deemed powerful"
