Tharionson and Zion halted mid-step as the scene fully came into view before them.
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
Leaning weakly against the base of a tree was a figure—barely recognizable as human at first glance.
A woman.
What remained of her body was in a state that should not have allowed life to persist.
Her left leg was gone from the knee down, the wound crudely torn rather than cleanly severed. Her right thigh bore a deep, open gash, the flesh split wide. Her abdomen had been ripped open, her intestines partially spilling out and clinging against her torso. Her left arm hung in ruin, the forearm mangled to the point where bone was nearly visible through torn flesh. Her right shoulder had been cleaved deeply, blood still seeping steadily from the wound.
Her face… was worse.
