It was nearing dusk when Lavender declared, with great flair, "I'm starving. I would eat a moss-covered rock if you seasoned it properly."
Vashir raised a brow. "There are edible roots nearby."
"I was thinking more along the lines of cake," she said mournfully. "But yes, let's forage like woodland creatures."
They veered off the main trail - not that there were real roads in this part of the forest, just natural paths carved by beasts and winds and time. Lavender hummed as she picked berries that sparkled faintly and smelled like honey-drenched violets.
But as she plucked a particularly ripe one, Vashir froze.
The air changed. The wind stopped. Even the chattering birds fell silent.
Lavender felt it too - the prickling along the spine, like being watched by something with more teeth than manners.
"Well," she said, casually drawing her dagger-ring, "I suppose it was too much to ask for a calm forest stroll."
From behind the trees stepped five figures - tall, furred, fanged, and grinning the sort of grin that said we've decided you're ours now. They weren't dressed like tribal warriors. Their clothes were ragged, stolen, and mismatched, some still bearing the insignias of exiled clans.
"Evening," the largest one said. He had the features of a hyena - wide shoulders, yellow eyes, and a laugh like bones cracking. "You look lost, human."
Lavender smiled sweetly. "Not lost. Just terribly curious."
"She's marked," another growled, eyes flicking to Vashir. "That snake stink is all over her."
"We don't care about tribal claims," the hyena said, stepping closer. "No laws bind us."
Bandits.
Outlaws who didn't follow Beast World customs. They took what they wanted, hunted lone travelers, and respected no one - especially not women.
Lavender narrowed her eyes. "Bad news, gentlemen. I don't belong to anyone. But I'm very expensive."
The hyena laughed. "Oh, we love a fighter."
Vashir was already moving.
In a flash of smoke and shimmer, he shifted - not fully into a beast, but enough to show what he was. Fangs, scales, eyes that glowed like amethyst fire.
"Touch her," he hissed, voice layered with ancient venom, "and I'll carve your names into your own ribs."
One bandit lunged.
Lavender sidestepped gracefully and stabbed his thigh with the dagger that had once been a ring. "Bad manners," she said cheerfully. "Didn't your mother teach you not to grab women?"
Chaos erupted.
Vashir struck like lightning - elegant, deadly. His movements were a dance of coils and claws. One bandit went down with a crushed windpipe. Another tried to flee but found himself wrapped in shadowy scales he couldn't escape from.
Lavender, meanwhile, darted between trees, nimble and gleeful, giggling like a girl at a garden party. Her blade slashed a sleeve here, a cheek there. She didn't aim to kill - not yet - just to embarrass. Confuse. Enrage.
"Stop playing," Vashir growled.
"I'm testing their choreography," she replied, dodging another strike. "So far, I'm unimpressed."
Finally, only the hyena was left, panting, bleeding, still smiling - but shakier now.
"You've made an enemy," he spat.
Lavender stepped close, pressing her dagger under his chin with such grace it looked like a flirtation. "Darling. I make collections, not enemies. But I'll add your teeth to a charm bracelet if you don't scurry along."
He ran.
---
Later, beside a tiny fire and a pot of oddly glowing soup, Lavender stretched her legs and sighed happily.
"Well, that was invigorating. Do all your forests come with bandits and theatrical tension?"
Vashir sat nearby, quietly sharpening a fang-shaped blade. "No. Some have worse."
"Oh, delightful," she said. "I do love variety."
He looked at her, dark eyes unreadable. "You're not afraid."
"Of course I am," she said, blowing on her soup. "But it's the interesting kind of fear."
He didn't speak for a while. Then, softly: "They would have hurt you. Badly."
Lavender smiled at him, unshaken. "You stopped them."
Vashir looked away, uncomfortable with gratitude. "You stabbed one in the thigh."
"With flair."
He almost smiled again.
---
That night, as the stars blinked into place and something howled in the distance (perhaps a wolf, or maybe a particularly moody tree), Lavender lay awake, staring up at the swirling constellations.
This world was dangerous. Strange. Wild.
And she was falling in love with every broken, glittering inch of it.