zheng yi sao step on me challenge
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A twig snapped behind her and Yi Sao leapt to her feet, ribs screaming as muscle memory directed her to grasp at her side for a weapon that wasn’t there. Her hand closed over the empty space where the hilt of her sword should have been.
The woman who’d been walking up behind her paused. She was tall, pale as the ice cap on a distant peak, and slender to the point of worry. Her clothes were plain, but well-made. A basket hung from one of her arms, filled with the sharp, irregular shapes of oyster shells and the damp green of seaweed. The woman’s light eyes flicked up and down Yi Sao’s body.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked, in English.
What if Zheng Yi Sao washed up on that beach instead of Sam Bellamy?