The sun had already dipped low, casting the village into the dull gray of early nightfall. I had eaten my evening meal—salted fish, a heel of bread, and watered ale—in the small common room of the inn. The other patrons had thinned out quickly, most heading home to their own hearths.
I had two reasons for going into the forest tonight. The first was simple: firewood. The small brazier in my room burned through what little the inn provided, and I preferred not to owe anyone extra favors. The second was more important. The Beastmaster's Ring was active, and I wanted to understand its limits before the first hatchling emerged. Testing it in the privacy of the forest would let me confirm what I could do without eyes watching.
I slipped the ring onto my finger and checked that the cube holding the eggs was secured inside my satchel. The cube would stay shut tonight—no risk to the eggs, no reason to bring them out.
The inn's door creaked slightly as I pushed it open. Outside, the air was sharper now, the scent of the sea lessened by the stillness of night. Lanterns burned faintly along the main path toward the docks, but I turned in the opposite direction, heading toward the treeline I had noticed earlier.
Before I reached it, a man stepped out from the side of a house, carrying a bundle of netting over one shoulder. He was in his late twenties, stocky, with a short beard and hair cropped close to the scalp.
"Where you going this time of night?" he asked, his tone direct but not unfriendly.
"Forest," I said. "Need firewood for the room. The inn's supply is low."
He nodded once, shifting the net on his shoulder. "If you just head straight in, you'll waste your time. The trees near the edge are picked clean."
"Where, then?" I asked.
"Go in about four hundred steps from the path," he said. "Then turn right and walk another two hundred. You'll find a patch where the trees are still good for cutting—straight trunks, about ten feet high, not too thick. Plenty for kindling and logs."
I memorized the directions. "Appreciate it."
"Don't wander too far," he added. "Boar roam that forest. They'll charge if you spook them."
"I'll keep that in mind," I said.
He gave a short nod and started walking toward the docks, the net swaying behind him.
I adjusted the satchel strap and stepped past the first line of trees. The ground here was uneven but firm, scattered with roots and patches of fallen leaves. The moonlight filtered through the branches above in dim patches, enough to see without a torch for now.
I began counting my steps in my head. At four hundred, I stopped, turned right, and resumed the count.
At two hundred steps, the change was clear. The trees here were straighter and closer together, each about ten feet high and as thick around as a man's thigh. The bark was pale, and the undergrowth was thin, making movement easy.
I set down the satchel, pulled the small hand axe I had taken from the inn's storeroom earlier, and tested the edge. It was sharp enough for the job. The first strike into the bark gave a satisfying, solid sound. Chips of wood fell with each swing, and after a few minutes the trunk cracked and leaned before settling to the ground with a muted thud.
I worked methodically. Cut, strip the branches, section the trunk into pieces that could be carried. The wood was fresh but dry enough that it would burn clean once split and stacked. I cut four trees in total, enough to fill the satchel with smaller logs and tie the larger pieces into a bundle I could carry over one shoulder.
As I worked, I paid attention to my surroundings. The forest was quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind and the distant sound of an owl. No footsteps, no animal sounds close by.
With the firewood ready, I could have turned back. Instead, I took a slow breath and scanned deeper into the forest. The Beastmaster's Ring on my finger was warm, faintly, as though aware of my intent. I moved a little further from the cutting site, my boots silent over the leaf litter.
The trees began to thin. Through the gaps ahead, I saw open space—the silvery gleam of moonlight unbroken by branches. I stepped closer until I reached the edge of a clearing.
It was wider than I expected, the ground level and covered with short grass. No stumps, no fallen trees, no obvious signs of human work. The air was still here, the silence deeper than in the forest behind me.
I felt the corner of my mouth lift in a small smile. This was worth remembering.
But I did not step inside yet. That would come later. For now, I turned back toward the path I had marked in my head. The wood was heavy on my shoulder, but manageable. I returned to the tree line, then to the path, and finally to the village without drawing any attention.
At the inn, I stacked the firewood neatly against the wall in my room, split a few logs for the brazier, and let the rest sit for drying. The warmth from the first burn filled the space slowly. I locked the satchel with the cube inside back into the chest before lying down.
Two days until the first hatchling. Tomorrow, I would see what lay inside that clearing.