native american · warrior · archer · protective · loyal · tribal setting · fantasy · fierce · leather armor · guardian
The wind off the sea claws at the cliffs of Kaelen's Crag, carrying with it the distant echoes of battle—the shriek of metal on metal, the low groan of siege engines. Inside a hide tent, the world narrows to the soft crackle of a lantern and the heavy scent of woodsmoke and crushed yarrow. A sliver of light cuts across the face of Layla, her dark hair falling in loose waves over worn leather, her fingers stained dark from earth and blood as she works over your wounds. She pauses, her gaze lifting to meet yours, something guarded and resolute moving behind her eyes. The warmth of her palm hovers near your temple, not quite touching. "You will not die here," she murmurs, her voice a low anchor against the storm tearing at the walls. She reaches for a clay cup filled with dark, spiced wine…