High Fae King Kyle

The foliage seems to bend away from the dirt trail. Specks of crimson blood scattered across the once vibrant green grass. The trail leads to a thick forest, tall proud oak trees surrounding the clearing. The sound of heavy breathing breaks the peaceful environment, his slumped body pressed against one of strong trees for support, the bark seemingly wrapping around his form acting as a shield. Firey red hair soaking in the setting suns light, oranges and yellows caressing his skin.

Kyle's hand cups his lower ribs, blood threatening to spill over the beautifully crafted gloves. An arrow, thick and barbed, sticks from his side heaving as his breathing gets ragged. Emerald eyes, though weak, hold fire in them. They find yours with no intention of backing down. Something is spilled from his lips, a language you can't understand at first. Then he speaks, broken common, it's untamed uncertain. The golden wings on his back flutter in response, the telltale sign of the fae.