The forest thickened until the canopy smothered the daylight. Shafts of pale green light pierced through in narrow beams, illuminating motes of dust and drifting pollen. The hunters moved with purpose, pushing aside low branches, their boots crunching softly on damp leaves. Eryn followed at a distance, slipping from trunk to trunk like a shadow.
He had always been small, always quick. Now those traits kept him alive. He crouched low when one of the men turned to spit, waiting until they moved on before creeping after them again. The hunters were armed with shortbows and heavy axes, their voices rough with excitement.
"Guild swears this map's solid," one said. "Beast's cave just ahead."
"And worth a year's wages," another muttered, rubbing his hands. "We bring that thing back, we'll live like kings."
Eryn's stomach growled softly. He pressed a hand to it, ignoring the pain. That beast—they spoke of its meat like a treasure. Maybe… maybe he could take some for himself when they were done. Maybe.
The path wound down into a shallow ravine, moss slick underfoot. Here, the air smelled stronger—musky, like wet fur and iron. One of the hunters knelt, pointing at tracks pressed into the mud. "Big. Heavy. It's close."
Eryn crouched on a ridge above them, eyes wide. He could feel something too—a tension in the air, as though the forest itself held its breath. He thought of Talon, the man who had done nothing, and his hand clenched on the knife. If he could track a beast, learn to kill it, he would be stronger. He would not be helpless again.
The hunters whispered prayers, drawing blades. Eryn edged closer, silent, ready to witness what came next.