Winter and conflict were at the foot of their doorstep. She could detect the artic scent of wind and snow approaching. The tip of her ochre brown nose cold from the temperature that seemed dropped each day.
A youthful woman of the name Nadia Jean-Baptiste was rested on a tree which was naked of its leaflets that the earth ground claimed for its own. Her dark yet luminous eyes looked around appreciating the nature surrounding her. Her gloved hand gripping the tree branch tighter than beforehand. She was a woman gifted in the arts of combat. Quick, agile, strong, and determination that could almost seem scary. The year was 1752 one whole year since the event. The earthquake the struck Haiti killing every single individual in her family, Including her loving mother. It shook her down to the essence of her bones. What had the people of her country done to deserve such a sentence? A country of tropical beauty yet the center of Caribbean slavery. Even so, it was her home and nothing could replace home.
Yet tragedy had not yet neglected the young woman. Her life would take a radical 360 too quick and too subtle for the young assassin to detect at once. Its causes were simple: a book, a bullet, and a man named Shay Patrick Cormac.
