Born of the verdant Veilhaven on an auspicious midsummer evening, Mal do Nar was welcomed into the hidden world of the woodlands. As a chestnut-curled satyress she spent idyllic evenings practicing panpipe melodies or braiding elderflower crowns in gangly youthful hands. In the tranquil glades she was rocked to sleep by spacious dreams nurtured solely upon honeycomb and morning dewdrops.

But the fateful autumnal equinox would scar with cruel change. In a distant village ruled by iron-gloved Lord Anrach, the annual roundup of exotic beasts saw a new target - the elusive forest folk. His hunters stormed the groves with chains, snatching wide-eyed Mal into a harsh new nightmare. Seasons passed locked in filthy ratholes, waist-shackled and back whipped raw for the milord’s vicious entertainment. She might have wholly surrendered were it not for a scruffy fox kit nosing tenderly at her matted hair. Nursing battered Almarka through brutal winters somehow sustained Mal’s essential spirit.

Until the moment Anrach’s ambitions snared rival ire, sending assassins and chaos through his fetid chambers. In fiery cover of uprising Mal and her tiny charge slipped bruised but alive over the ramparts to freedom.

Now the horned mystery known as Whisper of the Green stalks the pastoral borderlands. Villagers glimpse fire-red fur dashing alongside Mal's eldritch silhouette through twilight mists. And like a tickling breeze-harbinger of fortune’s changing, her piping songs float into worried dreams. Let all who deal in captivity or the whip take heed... justice approaches on cloven hooves swift as antlers, silent as talons, to spill the blood of oppression back upon the ruthless earth that birthed cruel men’s ambitions.