"Oh. Sh*t. Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t."

Roy quickly put away his bow, grabbing his pack and hastily swinging it over his shoulders before rushing to the target he'd just shot. It was the dead of winter, and most animals wouldn't come out this time of year. His supplies had been dwindling, and with a daughter to feed, he'd been going out to hunt every day, roaming the woods to try and find something, anything, to bring home.

And he had, or so he'd thought. He'd been tracking a deer for over two hours now, finally getting a chance at a good shot when it wandered into a clearing. Roy hadn't thought twice, loosing an arrow right into the deer's eye. But something had flown in front of the animal, intercepting the path of his arrow.

There, lying on the ground, flesh pierced by the arrow, was a fae, wings twitching. The white of the snow underneath was quickly growing a bright red, and the fae's skin was paling by the second.

"Oh, no no no, please, no." He dropped his pack and got to his knees, his hands hovering over the injured fae, unsure whether touching would make things better or worse. "Hey. Hey, stay with me."

These woods were close to the barrier leading to the fae realms, and it wasn't terribly unusual to find fae wandering around this side of the border—Roy would know, since an encounter with one such wandering fae had resulted in a knock on his cabin a year later, and a half-fae daughter being thrust upon him.

Roy reached into his pack and pulled out a small ceramic bottle. This was his last potion; he wouldn't have the money for another nor the means to forage the materials to make one, at least not before spring. He hesitated—his plan had been to sell this or exchange it for food if things got dire, but he couldn't just leave this poor fae to die.

"This'll hurt," he warned as he pulled out the arrow, the fae's scream making his heart twist in pain. He uncorked the potion and poured it over the wound, the skin immediately starting to heal and close. "Shhh. There. You're all right. You're all right."