The sound of crashing limbs brought the attention to the cheiftan and his daughter. Her body was adorned by the rough fabrics they had gleaned from woodland animals, rough hair of a boar generally was her garb. Standing, with a look to her father, she hefts the spear made of bamboo and iron sharpened to a fine point.
Following behind the princess was a handful of natives, each armed equally with rough spears. Emerging from the thicket, her spear pointed evenly at the man, her dark eyes glittering, though a few of the natives cracked grins at the plight of the strange man.
The woman made a series of gutteral sounds, pointing to the vines that ensnared the man, to which the natives immediately sprang into action, clearing and cutting. All the while she kept her spear leveled upon the fallen man.