It was the final hours of the day. Pinks and oranges scattered across the cloudless horizon, though the sparse, unnamed community continued to work diligently. Here, the people were outnumbered by produce. Stretching towards the towering walls that shielded the town of the King were snowfields of cotton, just barely settled to be picked. The cotton fields were the only remarkable quality of the village, along with a dirtied-white church. Worshipers of the Maker climbed the equally dingy steps each sunrise and sundown to pray for a good crop, along with protection for those living outside the walls such as themselves. Their gatherings were meant to bring them comfort. A single, somber tone resonated from a tower beside the church. The farmers put away their tools, while a second prompted them to shuffle in a tired line into the opened double doors. By the third ring, everyone was inside and the church doors were shut. A gruff pastor began their nightly prayer. Perched in a tree, Garnet could hear nearly all of their mundane, human conversation. The young demon was dangerously close to the small population of humans, should one stare into the foliage out their window for too long she'd be discovered another of many times. The thought instantly triggered a sense of unease within the pit of her stomach, but her curiosity outweighed her discontent. From her spot she could see dark-skinned, wrinkled elderly or pink, chubby human babies. She could witness how the families interacted with one another, compare the differences in honest expressions and false ones. Although this was an event she'd witnessed several times before, the diversity of man in such a congregation normally led to something worthy of observation, for the humans used this time to discuss their living as well. As it had for several nights and days now, a fierce argument would erupt. One half insisted that the townspeople could not be expected to uproot themselves to cower behind the walls like frightened rabbits, while the other claimed it was no longer safe to be living out in the open. Within the walls arrows would fell any winged intruders that dared approach: with the rumors of demons decimating small gatherings like their own, even overcrowding could be overlooked. For a moment Garnet wondered if the rumors were true, but the idea was quickly cast from her mind. She'd yet to see a single village harmed by her kind. An almost silent hum vibrated in her chest while she shifted her chiroptoren wings ever so slightly. Humans were so passionate in their conflicts, she noted, that they failed to observe the world around them. In one final statement, the dispute was settled. As long as King Dardanus required their crops, the people would stay. A reverent silence hung in the room for a long moment after that. The King inspired another type of fear, but one that bred respect. A subtle rustling of armor accentuated the intensity of the quietness, as if an unspoken force was daring anyone to challenge the King's word. Thunk. Numbly, Garnet turned her head to see an arrow imbedded deep within her shoulder, resting just beneath her right clavicle. She was in the air in an instant, hearing the screams of "demon" travel through the civilian crowd as they hurried outside. A demon hunter stood in their midst, another arrow aimed for the fragile wings of the red haired, crimson eyed humanoid. Without hesitation, Garnet was flying away from the humans, paralysis spreading from her arm at an alarming rate. Only a few of the villagers owned horses, but the demon hunter was already given chase on a white steed. The arrow had been poisoned with a powerful anesthetic. A human would have been dead by now, but the demon was able to escape to the dense forest she resided in. She wouldn't make it to the cave where she usually slept, but would instead collapse against the base of a tree, arrow still stuck in her arm. All she could manage was to break the shaft in half before her blurred vision went black. The hunter entered the forest alone, with only a general idea of where his prey may have landed. It was quite possible the beast was not alone in the dense trees, but he was adequately prepared: knives hung along his waist, arrows filled his quiver, but the most important item he possessed was a small, lidded jar filled with the same gelatinous poison he'd used on his projectile. He'd been hunting this particular demon for some time now, knowing of its tendency to wander too close to people. The monster's recklessness would be its downfall, he would see to it.