Pawn {B.B} (1)

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His Sister's Keeper (6,1)

Only one other living being knew of Tyra's condition, known as the colour of her blood. The woman who had helped bring her into the world and her son who had assisted.

The woman had been sworn to secrecy as soon as she pricked Tyra's finger to see her blood, granted she had mostly kept her mouth shut thanks to Tyra's father's threat, and the friendship the woman held with Tyra's mother. And like the young boy the child was, he followed in his mother's footsteps and didn't utter a single word to anyone.

The woman had long been dead, lost to the age of humankind. But the son remained, a son who had followed in his mother's footsteps and still held the curiosity of a young child.

Tyra had been kicked out of the Trikru village only minutes into her helping, one of the healers there had noticed her pained expression and saw her bandaged arm. The healer offered to check her arm for her and even seal her wound for Tyra's help, but not wanting to show her true colours, Tyra immediately refused and said she already had another healer help her.

Even then, the healer had kicked her out, and no other person would let her help out. So with no other choice, Tyra followed her trek through the forest to the cave she knew the boy, now turned a man, resided in.

From what she had asked around during her first few days in Trikru, the man by the name of Lincoln lived just beyond some piked bodies at the bottom of a hill in a cave a few meters beyond another Trikru village.

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Tyra made it all the way until morning, still trying to find the cave, her legs burning with exhaustion and mind sluggish with the little sleep she received the night prior. But Tyra only splashed some water on herself from her canteen every few minutes, and that kept her going for a long enough distance to reach the cave.

Tyra worried that Lexa would send in word while she was gone, after all, if they tried to find her they'd be able to see that no one had seen the inside of that specific house she was supposed to be staying at in over a decade. And knowing that would only fuel Anya further.

Another half a mile and Tyra finally heard something other than just birds singing their morning songs and the trees swaying with the music of the breeze. But what Tyra heard wasn't something good.

Tyra heard the foghorn.

Immediately, she began to run with newfound adrenaline, trying to spot anywhere to hide. She did not wish to die just like her brother had.

Just then, Tyra began to hear screams and cries for help and stopped in her track. Her hair swished to the side with each head turn while Tyra attempted to find the source of the noise.

It was female, that much she could tell from the high pitch of the cries. But with the echo of the forest, and the imminent threat of the fog, Tyra's mind was spiralling and wasn't any good at pinpointing the scream.

But with her ears strained, she managed to hear the crack of branches behind her and flipped in her spot, her sword coming out like an extension of her arm to face the new threat.

A broad, dark-skinned man stood before her, covered from the neck downwards in dirty black rags and his eyes painted black, a black strip of a tattoo coming from his forehead and disappearing behind his neck.

"Lincoln?" At first, the man didn't seem to recognize her, after all, Tyra hadn't seen him since she was thirteen, and she had changed a lot since then.

But eventually Lincoln seemed to connect the dots, or more like the features. The bright blue eyes that had dulled with age, and the mud and soot covered red curly hair on her head. But most of all, the black drips down her arm that could've been mistaken for paint if he hadn't known better. "Tyra?"