Amorastra’s bare feet tread lightly over the roots, rocks, clovers, and moss of the Yggswood’s underbrush. The Faeland sun barely managed to make it through the dense canopy. Even in that dim light Amorastra’s eyes missed no detail of her surroundings. She had encountered countless beasts and critters as she had wandered. She often took time to watch the most adorable of the creatures she happened across. 

It was late in the morning when she came across a family of hippoquirrels who were building a covered nest next to a small stream. They were skittish creatures, so she watched from a distance for some time before moving ever so slowly closer over the course of an hour or so. The regal elegance and grace of her bloodline guided her feet through the vegetation until she was mere feet away from the nest. It was built into the side of a rock and surprisingly sturdy looking, made of interlocking branches and twigs with long vines woven throughout the structure. Amorastra watched for long minutes, enraptured by their cute squeaks and grunts. 

Suddenly they looked up and around, their bulbous snouts bouncing as they sniffed the air. The smallest one spotted Amorastra and squealed in terror as it dashed inside its home. In an instant they had all disappeared. Amorastra shook her head and huffed a disappointed sigh as she placed her balled fists on her hips. She looked down at the tiny home once more and a smile soon overtook the sadness in her face. She began to gather the best vines, twigs, and sticks she could and left a small pile next to the hippoquirrel’s abode before she finally departed. She started to pick her way through the endless forest once more. Though, her mind seemed to be elsewhere as a playful smile tugged at her lips.

A flash of movement caught in the corner of her eye and brought her out of her reverie. Just a glimmer of iridescence and already gone. No rustle in the branches above to provide a clue as to where, though. But it must still be close. Perhaps close enough. 

Amorastra extended her left hand palm up. She used the long golden manicured fingernail of her other index finger, its tip needle sharp, to engrave an intricate binding circle within her palm. The fingernail’s point raised a welt in a sharp clear line wherever she traced it along her skin. The barest bit of blood began to seep from the superficial wound. Her hand grew hot as she finished the final flourish of the symbology. She lifted her hand up above her head and turned a slow circle until she could feel a force pulling her forward. She ran, letting that tug guide her along paths no demon had ever tread before.  Over broken boughs and past thorny brush she ran until she burst into an open glade. She screwed her eyes shut and raised her free arm to shield her eyes from the blinding sun. She took a breath and focused all of her senses on her outstretched hand until she found the force once more. It was strong. 

She splayed her fingers as wide as she could, stretching the skin of her palm and releasing a few tiny drops of blood from that pin pricked path. 

Her prey flew into her hand and she closed her fist tight around it. The binding circle flared with power and Amorastra’s lips curled into a proud snarl of a smile—and then downturn into confusion. She tried to open her eyes, but the sun was still too bright. She stumbled her way back toward the darkness of the forest with squinted eyes.

Her prey struggled in her hand, but it was much lighter than she expected, surely less than a pound. A juvenile, perhaps? But, no. It was soft in her hand. Supple, even. No scales. No bony bits along its spine. And how thin it was! 

Amorastra finally found her way to the refuge of the cool shade she opened her eyes, blinking away the afterimage of the brightness. Her vision quickly came back into focus and Amorastra’s eyes went wide. A large pixie struggled against her grasp. The lithe thing pushed and strained, pressing tiny hands—each only as wide as one of Amorastra’s fingers— into Amorastra’s deep purple skin. Her grip around the pixie was just below its armpits and her clasped hand covered the vast majority of the pixie's torso, leaving the hips and legs dangling below. Four translucent silvery wings protruded from the pixie's back, though the lower pair was trapped in her grasp.

As from a bubbling spring, a giggle gurgled its way out. That giggle awoke a proper laugh. Her laugh was deep and sonorous and soothing, like the waves on a sandy shore.

The pixie’s struggle stopped at the melodious sound and she laughed along with Amorastra. The pixie's laugh was that of crystal chimes and birdsong.

As the laughter ran its course Amorastra sat on a soft bed of moss, her back to a large tree with smooth white bark. She let out a long sigh as the last burst of mirth flowed from her. She took a breath and brought the pixie up to eye level. The pixie’s laugh was also concluding.

Amorastra tilted her head, “Now, just who have I caught? You’re no opal drakeling, but a fine catch, nonetheless.” Her voice was smooth, like the caress of the finest silk robe sliding from your shoulders. 

The pixie looked mildly offended, “You thought me a drakeling? I suppose I can’t fault your mistake. I’m surprised you saw me at all. Though, I must say, it’s quite rude to ask who I am without introducing yourself.”

Amorastra raised an eyebrow, an amused look playing at her lips, “No tricks? From a pixie? You’re not going to ask for my name?”

The pixie folded her arms defiantly, turned and raised her head, nose pointing to the boughs above. “If I desire your name, I shall simply take it. Such tricks are of no value to me.”

Amorastra squeezed her hand gently, the binding circle keeping the pixie securely in place. The blunt edge of her thumbnail pressed into the skin of the pixie’s belly. “Are you in any position at all to take something of mine? I do believe you belong to me now. And, as your captor, I shall indeed introduce myself. I am Amorastra, Demon Princess, Daughter of Desire, Lord of Longing and the Seventh Ring.” With each word her thumb pulled back, the needle tip of the nail coming closer to the pixie’s skin. Amorastra held the pixie up close to her face to look into her eyes. Her smile was one of satisfaction, “I shall be the one doing the taking.”

The pixie was unfazed. She nodded regally to Amorastra, “Well, princess, it is a pleasure to meet you, indeed. Whispers of your reputation have been heard even in my far flung halls.” Her voice became more serious and stern, “As for me, I am known as Nystri, Queen of all Fae.” With those words Nystri’s eyes flared a bright green and Amorastra’s hand was forced open by a surge of wind, the binding circle broken.

Nystri flew up, but did not flee. Her voice echoed loudly among the trees, “Might of petals and patience of bark, heed my call!” 

Amorastra pushed against the tree behind her to stand, but was pulled back as she found her hands bound by the white bark. She pulled hard, breaking one hand free. Before she could free the second she felt something creeping across her skin. The moss below had begun to grow up and around her legs and back, and she saw an undulating mass of vines getting close to her. She pulled her legs out of the moss easily enough, then she bent and twisted as her hand sank further into the tree. She managed to get her legs under her, but the hand was held fast. She took a breath and forced her will into the small wings on her back. Her legs flexed and her arm strained as those wings grew ten times their size. With a single flap she sprung forward, shards of bark flying from the tree. 

Amorastra flew just ten feet before she hit the ground and tumbled along it. She gritted her teeth and began to stand, but pain blossomed from her right wing. Then from her left leg. A piece of wood was sticking out of her calf. She looked up and saw Nystri flying near the branches of an ancient gnarled tree. Nystri's eyes glowed and another branch of the tree was snapped off and sent hurtling toward Amorastra's chest. 

Amorastra ignored the pain in her leg and stood, snatching the would-be spear from the air before it could add another hole to her skin.

Amorastra's smile was calm, “You should have fled when you had the chance, my Queen.” Frigid air swirled around her and Amorastra's skin began to frost over. 

Nystri threw another three spears before the cold began to get to her, but none found their mark. The gales of cold surrounding the demon protected her. Faint patches of ice began to grow on her wings and her flight faltered, but she summoned the wind once more which held her aloft. Nystri then met Amorastra's growing blizzard with a cyclone, trapping the worst of the cold inside a barrier of wind. 

Amorastra folded her wings against her back and took a step a few feet forward. She pressed her hand into the wall of wind and her hand was easily pushed back. She focused on her own vortex, strengthening it to hold the cyclone back. She felt a rumbling below her feet.

She weighed her options, then sent her thoughts out beyond the howl of their matched gales. 

Truce? 

She held her breath until words on the wind found her.

Truce.