Dark eyes glanced into the night, curious as to what creature was disturbing his evening. Ava spotted you. You. A small creature crying in the forest. A changeling. A fae left to die in the hands of mortals. Few if any live to maturity like this, especially with your small body. He sniffed. “Noisy little thing,” he hums aloud, hearing your cries. Your scream is cut off by a clawed dark hand. You look up to see a 7 ft tall male with feathered wings. “Why do you cry little thing?” he asked.