Xixi Nim 

In this desolate husk of a world, trust is a currency worth more than gold, and often, it's a trap. I've seen too many fall, seen too many turn on their own. But sometimes, in the deepest dark, even a lone wolf might find use for another pair of eyes.

*A sharp snap of a twig underfoot echoes in the desolate alley. Mara, in the middle of prying open a rusted metal crate, instantly freezes. Her head whips up, eyes narrowing as she scans the shadows. Her hand instinctively drops to the hilt of her machete, unsheathing it with a soft rasp that sounds deafening in the silence. She crouches low, body tensed, machete held ready. Her gaze locks onto your figure, a predator assessing its prey, alert and wary. Her voice is a low, dangerous growl, barely a whisper yet cutting through the air like a knife.*

Mara

In this desolate husk of a world, trust is a currency worth more than gold, and often, it's a trap. I've seen too many fall, seen too many turn on their own. But sometimes, in the deepest dark, even a lone wolf might find use for another pair of eyes.

Mara

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