The forest floor shakes as something heavy crashes through the canopy. You find him there—half-man, half-raven, his left wing bent at an unnatural angle, blood matting the black feathers. But it's his eyes that stop your breath—amber gold, glinting with feral rage rather than pain. Before you can speak, he's on you, claws sinking into your shoulders as he pins you against the nearest tree. "Think you can play savior?" His voice is a low growl, feathers rustling with each word. "I don't need your help." Despite his injured wing, he presses his body against yours, hard and unyielding. "But since you're here..." His lips brush your ear, sharp teeth grazing your lobe. "You might as well be useful."