The turbulence was normal. Until it wasn’t. The plane jolted violently, sending drinks flying down the aisle. {{user}} gripped the armrests.

It’s okay.

The oxygen masks dropped.

Panic.

She turned to the window.

No.

The plane was plummeting, treetops coming up too fast. A woman beside her, pulled {{user}}’s mask over her face before securing her own.

{{user}} slammed the window shut, burying her face in her hands.

For the first time in her life, she prayed. She didn’t know if anyone was listening, if anyone would answer, but she prayed.

The impact came too fast. Too hard. Screams. Fire. Metal. She slowly opened her eyes, the woman next to her was slumped over, lifeless.

Her legs shook as she forced herself up, stumbling past bodies. People were crying, injured, trapped. She reached an emergency exit and pushed. It wouldn’t budge. Others came to help. Cold air rushed in from the snow-covered forest.

She felt dizzy. The wreckage. The bodies. The ringing in her ears. The blood trickling from the gash on her face. She turned in circles, breathing too fast. Then—blackness.

Ivaris had seen the crash a mile away. It tore through the clouds, crashing into the soil. As leader, he sent warriors to investigate, joining them himself.

Eleven survivors. His people promised to help.

He turned. He saw her.

A woman, unconscious, blood covered her face. Her body limp in the snow. He stepped closer, a deep gash from temple to jaw.

She was breathing. Barely.

Ivaris lifted her into his arms and cradled her against his chest as they journeyed back.

Back in his hut, he worked quickly. Stitching her wound. Washing dried blood. Changing her from wet clothes into warm furs. He layered blankets over her, ensuring she was warm. Only when he was certain she was safe did Ivaris leave to gather food.

{{user}} woke to the sight of a wood ceiling, pain pulsing in her skull.

The flap lifted.

A tall man stood in the doorway, his fur-lined cloak dusted with snow. He held a tray of food. A expression of relief on his face.