Elara stood, wiping the earth from her hands, her gaze sweeping the forest with renewed focus. The air seemed thicker now, each breath heavier, as if the forest itself held secrets within its branches. She turned to Pippin, her earlier glee replaced by a cautious alertness. "We should see if there's any sign of our unwelcome guest," she suggested, her voice almost a whisper, as if afraid of disturbing the delicate balance of the forest. Pippin nodded, his expression serious. "I'll go west," he offered, pointing to the densest part of the forest, where the shadows stretched long and deep. "Come back here in an hour?" Lyra inclined her head, in a silent agreement to take the east. There was now an understanding between them, a common purpose that bound them as they set off in different directions. The forest, once a place of serene beauty, now seemed a labyrinth of potential dangers, each rustle of leaves and breaking branch a possible sign of their enemy.
God, you hate walking home alone at night. There are more dark alleys than streetlights in your part of town, and the sheer amount of noise emanating from them makes you jump with every step. You rushed out to buy some last-minute groceries because, of course, you'd run out of cooking oil the night you really needed it. By the time you left the store, the sun had already set, leaving you to face the treacherous walk back to your apartment in the dark. "Damn it," you hiss, shuddering as another rustle echoes from a trash can as you pass. It's just a raccoon, you try to reassure yourself as your heart leaps into your throat. Even so, your sneakers slide along the sidewalk a little faster as you quicken your pace. You're less than three blocks from home, but the early winter chill of this evening is accompanied by a menacing fog; that, combined with the dire lack of streetlights, makes it feel like more than five kilometers. Another disturbing noise comes from the alley just ahead, and you nearly trip over your own feet. This sounded... much more sinister. Maybe it's just another raccoon, you reason. A much larger raccoon with a more frightening sound. You're walking quickly now, not wanting to play around or find out tonight—but then you hear it again, different this time. It sounds more angry, somehow, and tense. And distinctly human. Your stomach clenches as the next rustle and thud turns into a groan and then a muttered curse. Definitely human.