Life was simple and unfair as Lakambini lived and breathed every second. She was simply hated for existing with the blood of her father - a tyrannical king - running through her veins. She could no longer remember the welcoming feeling of a soft bed, the warmth under the blankets and the soothing protection of the walls of her home. She was too young to remember but also too young to be subjected to a life where she worries constantly about herself.
Lakambini rolled her sore shoulders, stumbling past the trees with a groan. She pulled her robes up before it fell off her pale and thin frame, and she stopped for a brief moment to make sure she is no longer in danger. The trees huddled together and were gathered away from the middle, allowing the moonlight to bask the rich grasses with restful sleep. A cool breeze tucked Lakambini's hair back, gracing her with comfort. Lakambini is safe.
Presenting herself before the full moon, Lakambini's knees surrendered and her body knelt. She untied her sword from her waist and rested it down in front of her, letting it glint silver. She took a moment to clean and tidy herself, tending to her wounds with magic. After making sure that the bandages on her chest was secure, she placed her white robe back on her then reached for sword so she could set a camp for a good night rest-
CRACK
Grasses crumpled sharply. Lakambini's eyes widened and quickly stood up, wobbling on her own leg wounds. She saw a figure disappear back on the trees. Frantic, Lakambini unsheathed her sword, damgerously pointing at nothing. When she heard footsteps again, she turned to her back and was greeted by silence but a bat flying through.
Lakambini is alone.