It was dawn when she finally came to. Things were a bit hazy at first, but within a few moments of staring up at the tall bakra tree above her she knew automatically where she was. Slowly and carefully she turned her battered head left, then right again. Nothing but bakra and cotri trees with the sunlight gently starting to poke through between them. She took a deep breath, braced herself and planted her hands into the dirt. Then with a deep groan she pushed herself up in a sliding motion against the tree and brought her hands gently to her head. Brushing her bloody hair from her face, she struggled to remember the events of the previous night. Her head pulsed with pain and she was pretty sure one of her kneecaps was broken. She blinked away the light and opened her eyes wider to take in more of her surroundings. A gasp escaped her lips and she realised on the forest floor before her were the bodies of men and women; bodies all wearing the colours of her tribe, the Katrokus. Directly in front of her, a man was hanging from the tree.
Reeling from a mix of her sudden awareness of the deep, pungent smell of human flesh and the blood dripping down the tree across the path, she lurched left and buried her face in the dirt, struggling to compose herself; struggling to breathe. When she could finally bring herself to return her eyes to the cotri she slowly lifted her eyes up the noosed corpse.

Hanging before her with wide open, terror-filled eyes was the leader of her doomed tribe. Her father, Metrok.