Ivette had hoped her efforts would lead her to safety for the night. But despite traversing miles of dark forest - while tiny, no less - and stumbling down a frightfully unstable mess of tree roots, her humble dreams were dashed at the sight of a campfire.

On another day, it would’ve been a welcoming experience. The chance to swap stories, share supplies, maybe cook a meal with an acquaintance, then be on her merry way, to never meet again.

But at five inches tall, another person was a threat. All the years of effort and training would be wasted if she ended up trampled underfoot. Granted, that was a worst case scenario, Ivette shrugged to herself, but today had gone bad enough. One more catastrophe wouldn’t surprise her.

Awash in the softened glow of a campfire, sulking into its own embers, a young woman slept in what Ivette could only describe as a pile.

With a lithe build, muscled shins, sheer, loose fitting clothes, and a gnawed thigh of what looked like goat meat, this woman was obviously a thief or something similar. 

Curled up in a thin, powder blue blanket with, dare Ivette believe it, an elephant pattern, she seemed at peace as she snoozed, her chestnut hair enticed into a long ponytail. 

She was young - perhaps even moreso than Ivette herself - but something of this young woman spoke of experience. Was it the scars adorning her body? The stance that said she was ready to pounce, despite being dead asleep? Or the cruel, flare enchanted dagger at her hip?

Ivette pondered internally. There was warmth, comfort, and even food right here, as if she were fated to find it. But the sleeping thief before her gave her second thoughts. Thieves were opportunists. What would one do if a tiny, defenceless woman quite literally fell into her possession?

This day had already been bad enough, but exhaustion and opportunity were speaking louder than apprehension right now. What was Ivette to do?