The day after the Festival of Seeds dawned grey and still, the sky veiled in a thin shroud of dust carried by the dry winds. The joy of planting still lingered, but it was fragile—held up by hope and fragile threads of calm.
Kael had been gone since first light. He and three other scouts had followed the tracks the messenger reported the previous day. Charlisa waited near the communal fire pit, helping grind dried herbs for teas, but her thoughts wandered to the western forest.
By midday, the scouts returned.
Kael's usually calm expression was lined with tension. His eyes sought Charlisa first, grounding himself in her presence.
"The tracks led to the bend of the water path," he said to the gathered council. "We found remains of a camp. Burnt embers. Half-eaten fruit. Marks of claws—and boots."
"Boots?" repeated the matriarch. Her voice was firm but sharp.
Kael nodded. "Not village-made. The leather was dyed dark, lined with bone beading. We also found this." He held up a strip of cloth with symbols embroidered into it—spirals and zigzags in faded red and yellow.
Charlisa stepped closer. The design struck her as oddly familiar, like certain ancient Indian tribal textiles she'd once seen in a museum display.
Elder Maro frowned. "Feral beastfolk don't wear such things."
"No," said Kael, "but these weren't ferals. They were organized. And they'd marked trees with ash."
A ripple of murmurs spread among the villagers. Marking trees with ash was a signal—one used by exiled clans, especially those who had turned away from peaceful living and embraced wild ways.
Charlisa asked softly, "Were there signs of women?"
Kael hesitated. "Yes. Braided vines near the water. It's… not a good sign."
The matriarch rose from her seat, staff tapping against the stone floor. "They are scouts like ours. But they scavenge from the living, not the land. We cannot let them grow bolder."
A plan formed quickly:
Perimeter patrols would be increased.
Younger hunters were to be trained in warning signs and escape paths.
Charlisa would assist with preparing healing salves and emergency poultices.
Kael pulled her aside after the meeting.
"I didn't want you to see that place," he said. "The trees there felt... wrong. Like something heavy lingered. Like fear had soaked into the bark."
Charlisa touched his arm. "I need to know what threatens us if I'm to be part of this world. I won't look away."
Kael looked at her with quiet awe. "You're braver than most warriors."
Later that evening, as she packed medicinal leaves into bark wrappings, she thought of her mother's words: Nature never hides. It teaches. Even in danger, it whispers truths.
She now understood. The shadows by the stream were not just a warning—they were the forest's way of preparing them.
War was not upon them yet.
But the wind had shifted. And the seeds they had planted might soon need more than water and sunlight.
Kael stood just beyond the longhouse, leaning against a carved pillar, the tension in his stance betraying the calm mask he wore.
Footsteps approached through the dim torchlight. Rynar emerged from the shadows, a man with broad shoulders, dark hair tied back with a leather strip, and eyes that always seemed to hold a mischievous glint, even after long days in the wild. His bow hung casually at his side, the string damp from the evening mist.
"You're brooding again," Rynar said, tilting his head toward Kael. "Either you're thinking about her… or you're planning to kill something. Which is it?"
Kael gave him a sideways glare but didn't answer.
Rynar grinned. "I'll take that as both." He leaned on the post beside Kael. "The forest's been restless. Tracks where they shouldn't be. Might be nothing… but I'm keeping my eyes open."
Kael's gaze drifted toward the longhouse where Charlisa slept. "Keep them open wider," he muttered.
Rynar's smirk faded just enough to show he understood. "Don't worry, brother. If trouble's coming, we'll meet it together — like always."