The forest was quieter without them.
No Borgu's booming laughter, no Sylvara's sharp tongue, no Kael's steady voice telling me what to do. Just me, the trees, and the weight of their stares as I walked away.
My boots sank into the damp soil, every step heavier than the last. The pouch Sylvara had given me slapped against my side, far too empty. It was meant to carry moonleaf back to camp, but right now it felt like a hollow promise—one I wasn't sure I could keep.
I gripped my cracked spear tighter. The shaft was splintered in places, the iron head dull and crooked, but it was all I had.
"Moonleaf by the river," I muttered to myself, repeating Sylvara's instructions. "Guarded by spined hares."
Rabbits. I almost laughed at the thought, but then I remembered the way she'd said it, her voice flat and cold. Not a joke. Not a warning to scare me off. Just fact.
And facts kill.
The forest thickened as I pushed eastward. Branches snagged at my sleeves, roots tried to trip me. The sunlight dimmed beneath the canopy, shadows swallowing the path until I wasn't sure if I'd wandered in circles.
My throat was dry, my stomach still aching from days of half-meals and scavenged berries. Kael's stew had filled me for a night, but hunger had a way of clawing back quickly.
It would've been so easy to turn around. To walk back into the clearing, hands empty, and admit I couldn't do it.
But then I saw Sylvara's eyes in my mind. Cold. Measuring. Judging.
And Borgu's laughter—good-natured, maybe, but it stung all the same.
And Kael's silence. That was the worst. Not mocking, not harsh. Just waiting.
No. I couldn't turn back. Not yet.
The river came first. I heard it before I saw it, the rush of water weaving through stone. When I reached the bank, I knelt and cupped water in my hands, drinking greedily until my stomach churned.
Then I saw it.
Moonleaf.
It grew low to the ground, nestled among stones slick with moss. Its leaves glowed faintly, a pale silver-green that shimmered even in the daylight. I felt my breath catch. Beautiful—and unmistakable.
I stepped closer.
That's when I saw the tracks.
Not human. Not boar. Small, clustered, dozens upon dozens of them. Tiny claw-marks, like knives etched into the soil.
My grip tightened on the spear.
The brush rustled.
The first hare hopped into view.
It should've been harmless. It was the size of a dog, with soft grey fur and twitching ears. But its back bristled with quills—long, sharp, gleaming like polished bone. Its eyes caught the light, and they weren't the eyes of prey. They were the eyes of something that killed.
It sniffed the air, nose twitching, and then it looked at me.
Another rustle. Then another.
Five. Seven. Ten.
They emerged from the underbrush in silence, circling, their bodies tense and low to the ground. One twitched, and a quill slid out with a soft hiss, embedding itself in the dirt at my feet.
I swallowed hard.
Not rabbits. Monsters.
The first charge was fast—faster than my eyes could follow.
I barely raised my spear in time, the shaft jarring as it caught the impact of a hare slamming into me. Quills scraped against my arm, slicing cloth and skin. I shoved it back with a grunt, but another darted for my leg.
Pain flared white-hot as needles bit into my calf. I kicked out, hearing the crunch of bone, but the creature only hissed and leapt away, bleeding but alive.
More closed in, coordinated, their eyes gleaming with hunger.
I spun, spear lashing out, catching one in the side. It shrieked, high and horrible, and the others shrieked with it.
Pack. They were a pack.
And I was meat.
I stumbled back toward the river, heart hammering, lungs burning.
Think. Think.
The spear wouldn't last. Too many. Too fast.
I needed something more.
The river surged beside me, white and violent against the rocks. Dangerous. But maybe dangerous was what I needed.
One hare lunged. I sidestepped, shoving it into the water. It screeched, thrashing, carried downstream.
Another leapt for my throat. I dropped low, the quills grazing my cheek, and drove my spear upward through its belly. Warm blood splattered my face as it convulsed and fell.
But the spear cracked with the impact, wood splintering.
I barely had time to pull the head free before three more closed in.
I ran.
Not away—through.
Straight into them, the broken spear whirling like a staff. Quills tore at my arms, claws raked my side, but adrenaline carried me. I swung and stabbed and shoved, breaking the circle, breaking their rhythm.
They screeched, regrouping, ears twitching in unison.
I reached the moonleaf.
Dropping to my knees, I slashed the stalks free with trembling hands, stuffing them into the pouch. My vision blurred, blood dripping into my eyes.
Behind me, claws scraped against stone.
No time.
I grabbed the last sprig and ran.
The chase was merciless.
They didn't tire. Every step I took, they followed, silent but for the hiss of quills and the snap of jaws. My legs burned, every wound screaming, but I forced them to move.
Branches tore at my face. Roots caught my boots.
One leapt for my back. I dropped flat, rolling as its claws raked air where my throat had been. Another darted in—too close. My fist connected with its skull, a sick crack, and it fell twitching.
But the others didn't stop.
I broke into the clearing at last, lungs on fire, blood soaking my tunic. The camp was still distant, too far, but I saw smoke from the fire.
Safety.
I staggered forward, clutching the pouch tight.
The hares slowed. Stopped.
I turned, gasping, spearhead shaking in my grip.
They stared at me from the treeline, eyes gleaming, but they didn't cross.
The clearing was theirs. The forest was theirs. But the fire—our fire—was not.
One by one, they vanished back into the shadows.
I collapsed to my knees.
The pouch slipped from my hands, moonleaf spilling onto the dirt. My blood mingled with its glow, silver and red together.
I laughed. A broken, breathless laugh.
I'd done it. Somehow, by some madness, I'd done it.
By the time I stumbled back into camp, Kael was by the fire, sharpening his blade. Borgu was gnawing on a bone. Sylvara was crouched near the herbs, her expression as unreadable as always.
They all froze when they saw me.
Borgu let out a low whistle. "Twig-man not dead."
Kael was on his feet instantly, steadying me before I could fall. "Gods, you're bleeding all over—sit down."
I shoved the pouch into Sylvara's hands. Moonleaf spilled into her palms, glowing faintly in the firelight.
Her eyes widened. Just for a heartbeat.
Then she looked at me. Really looked.
And for the first time, her voice wasn't sharp.
"…You did it."
I managed a grin through blood and exhaustion. "Told you… I could."
Then the world tilted sideways, and darkness claimed me.