In all this time, Aerin hadn't spared a single thought for alchemy. She and the few other elves who had managed to escape their settlement had been relentlessly hunted. In one life-or-death battle after another, her combat skills and awareness had been honed, sharpened by grim necessity.
After all, this new strength had been purchased with ten of her own lives.
Even now, as her mind was focused on the Survivor's Platform, her body remained on high alert. She sat in the pitch-black tree hollow with a bow on her back and a sword at her hip. She didn't even dare to light a fire. "Panic" was no longer a strong enough word to describe her state of existence.
