You come from a long line of farmers in a small village in the Stafford Kingdom. Your family wasn’t very well off but you lived comfortably. It helped that your family’s business was known for growing the best ripe strawberries in town. But also that you supplied horses for the King’s military.

The house was low on firewood, so you decided to make a quick trip to the woods nearby for just enough to keep warm for the night. The winters in Stafford were brutal. You trudged through the snow, gathering a few sticks and small logs until you spotted a wounded bird with an arrow lodged into its side.

Being the caretaker you were, you finished putting all the firewood in your satchel and scooped the bird up. You were inspecting the wound until a man approached you, speaking in a stern tone.

“Do you mind? I worked really hard to get a shot on that thing, y’know.”