I clench my fists so tight my claws dig into the bandages. Maybe if I tear something open, it'll distract from the fire crawling up my leg.
Is this healer cleaning a wound, or branding me for the afterlife?
Every breath is a battle. Every heartbeat pumps more heat into the wound. My leg feels like it's being peeled, layer by layer, with a rusted blade dipped in ash.
I've bled before. I'm a scout for God's sake. We're the ones sent to investigate disturbances, which means we're usually the first ones gored when a new beast takes up a den too close to the village. I know pain. But this? This is something else. This is the kind that coils in your gut and makes your vision blur. The kind that wrings the breath from your chest and laughs while you choke.
I try to open my eyes. Just enough to see. Just enough to make sure my leg's still there. The fur is gone, exposing the skin that's normally covered by it. The flesh beneath is red and raw and bubbling under whatever this "ointment" is supposed to be.
It sizzles when it hits. I hear it. I smell it.
"You'll feel a little sting," she said. "I've seen worse," she said.
Liar.
They always say things like that—right before they start digging into you like a butcher. I can hear her breathing, calm and steady like this is routine. Like I'm not dying in pieces under her hands.
Outside, there are whispers, voices almost too soft to make out.
"Is that Nekaro?"
"Yeah… he's been in there a while."
A pause, one that feels like it drags on just too long.
"He won't make it."
They might be right.
I'm not sure what hurts more—my leg or the silence that follows that thought.
But I'm still here. I can feel everything, and gods I wish I couldn't.
The silence is broken by the grating voice of the woman responsible for this torment.
"Hold him down."
I don't even have time to open my eyes before fresh fire digs into my bones.
Hands clamp around my arms—strong enough to stop me from thrashing, but not enough to stop the scream that tears itself out of my throat.
It's not a sound I've ever heard myself make.
It's high, broken, and raw. So raw it chills my blood and flays my dignity. Now even my throat feels like it's bleeding.
Gods, when will this end?
If these two warriors weren't pinning me to the straw-strewn dirt, I might have brought my claws to my own throat just to end this hell.
There's a hiss, before a stench, sharp and bitter, burns in my nose, and then a strange cold creeps up my spine.
A numbness. Not peace, but the absence of feeling. Voices begin to echo like they're underwater.
"Keep him steady."
"He's so pale..."
"I need more tincture—now."
"We're losing him, Mehra!"
I feel nothing.
No fire. No screaming. No pressure.
Just silence.
My chest rises and falls as I breathe in, and for a moment, I believe I might be dead.
Slowly, the world drifts back in. Voices become clearer as I become aware of my surroundings one more.
"…Thank the gods above. He's still breathing."
"Can you hear me? Nekaro, look at me."
My eyes crack open to the blurred, dusty brown fur of Mehra as she turns away.
"One still lives," she mutters. "Help him up. I've got more to see still."
Rough hands lift me under the arms, dragging me out of the stinking hut. The air outside hits my face like a cold slap. They sit me down in the dirt, just beside the doorway. My vision steadies. My breath returns. The dull throbbing in my leg has replaced the agony, though I know it's only sleeping. For a moment, I just breathe. When I finally look down, I see white cloth wrapped tight around what's left of my leg. I reach toward it on instinct.
"Touch it and you'll be back in there sooner than you'd like," a voice warns beside me.
I glance over and see a woman crouched in the dirt, grinding herbs with steady hands. Her fur is smoke-gray, soft-looking despite the soot and blood hanging in the air. Pale, silvery markings trail her neck and arms like creeping vines, half-hidden beneath the folds of her tunic. Her ears, pointed and high-set, twitch subtly at every sound, copper rings catching the light as they move. Her long, slender tail flicks behind her, not restless, but alert.
I huff, dry as old bark. "I'll sooner chew my leg off before I let someone rip it open and feel around again."
Tali snorts, the sound soft—maybe amused, maybe not—but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She doesn't even look at me, just keeps grinding her herbs like I didn't say a word.
"If you're planning to gnaw it off, wait until I'm done mixing this," she mutters. "I want to be far away when the screaming starts again."
I let out a breath that's supposed to be a laugh, but it comes out more like a cough. "You're not very reassuring."
"Stopped trying to be reassuring yesterday."
That gets me quiet.
She doesn't have to explain what she means. Nobody does.
We sit in it for a moment—the kind of silence that isn't really silent at all. Behind us, I can still hear Mehra moving inside the hut. Voices. Moaning. The wet slap of something being pulled out of someone it shouldn't have been inside in the first place.
Tali finally glances over, and her gaze meets mine, pale and sharp. She looks like someone who's been holding her breath for a whole day and hasn't figured out how to let it go yet. She doesn't sound or look scared, just weary.
"You're lucky," she says, and her voice is quieter now. "Lucky your name's still being spoken."
I can't even say anything back to that. What is there to say? We all know what happened. We saw it through different eyes, sure, but the truth doesn't change. It's still here. It's everywhere.
The stained cloths piled behind the hut.
The stench clinging to the air, thick and rotting.
The steady shuffle of footsteps—coming and going, always going—bearing stretchers that rarely leave with the same weight they brought.
And the dirt. Gods, the dirt. Packed down by too many feet, rutted with drag marks that don't lead anywhere good.
We all feel it. That heaviness. That itch behind the ribs, like something's still watching us. Like it could happen again. Will happen again. It buried itself in our skulls yesterday and made a home there.
"Is it luck?" I finally mutter. "Sure as hell doesn't feel like it from where I'm sitting."
The bitterness leaks out, low and sharp, but not at her. Not Tali. She wasn't out there with us, but she's seen enough to understand. Maybe more than most.
There's movement to my side—two men ducking out of the hut, stretcher between them. I recognize one of them. Maybe. I think we trained together, once.
Their heads are low. They don't speak. Don't need to.
It's not their faces I watch, though. It's what they carry.
A tail hangs loose over the edge of the stretcher, swaying in the breeze. The fur is matted. It catches the sunlight like it has no right to anymore. Just one more limp thing on top of limp limbs. My stomach turns.
A sharper sound snaps my attention back—Tali's mortar hitting stone a little too hard. She's grinding something, probably the same herb as before, but her hands are tight around the pestle now. Her eyes are shut.
When she speaks again, her voice has changed. It's cold, and it hurts.
"Where do you sit, Nekaro?" she asks. "Because I don't see much blood on you that isn't your own."
I take a moment to breathe, closing my eyes to block it all out for a moment. I want to spit back at her, to remind her that I was there, but I don't have the energy. The silence between us is deafening for a few moments, broken only by the wind that seems louder than any scream and the quiet groans from Mehra's hut that make my stomach sick. I can feel my stomach twisting in knots as I consider her question.
"Nowhere better than where you sit Tali... I can promise you that much."
I can still clearly remember where it all started. A howl, a cry that made my blood run cold. I can still hear the first scream that echoed across the Sunrest Hills just after nightfall. My heart aches, and the dread I've been trying to hold at bay comes creeping back in.
"Have you seen Tarenji come through?" I ask with a pit in my stomach, scared of the answer I may get. Tarenji is my oldest friend. He and I have scouted the Vale of Keshir and its surrounding territories together more times than I can count. He was the greatest scout I ever met, crafty and quick on his feet. Surely he escaped. Surely he ran to warn others and then retreated to safety... right?
Tali's eyes don't meet mine as I ask, and for a moment, I think she might not answer. The words that follow are slow, strained. "Not since yesterday afternoon." Her voice cracks, and for a brief second, I swear I hear it break into something softer. "I wish I could tell you otherwise."
Her words hang heavy between us, as if the answer is too painful for either of us to bear. I look down at my hands, the blood caked into the cracks of my claws, and force myself to breathe evenly. I should have known, but a small, foolish part of me kept hoping, kept thinking that somehow, Tarenji had made it.
The silence stretches longer.
"He's gone, isn't he?" The words slip out before I can stop them, quieter than I expect. The heaviness in my chest pulls tighter, a knot forming around my ribs.
Tali doesn't answer, but her silence says everything. She's been part of this nightmare too long to offer false comfort. Her silence is honest.
I let the quiet stretch, let the wind tug gently at the loose edges of the bandage wrapped around my thigh. It's starting to itch beneath the cloth, a dull irritation I don't bother to scratch. Better than the agony from earlier. Better than the memories trying to claw their way back to the surface.
Another pair of footsteps passes behind us. I don't look. I've stopped wanting to know the faces of the dead.
Tali shifts beside me. Her hands aren't moving as quickly now, the paste in the bowl thick and ready, but she doesn't stop working it. I don't think she knows what to do with her hands anymore when they aren't trying to hold someone together.
The hut groans behind me as someone is pulled through the flap—half-conscious, blood-soaked, barely breathing. I hear them murmur a name. I can't make it out. I don't try. One of the carriers stumbles and swears under his breath as they drag the warrior past, and I catch a glimpse of blood smeared across their side. It's too much. Too red. Too real.
A moment later, a scream rips through the air from inside the hut. Not the first today, but it cuts clean through me all the same. The kind of sound you don't forget.
Tali flinches. Then Mehra's voice barks out, hoarse but commanding.
"Tali! The paste!"
The apprentice jumps to her feet, her tail flicking behind her, and grabs the bowl without looking at me.
She hesitates—just a second, just long enough to glance back over her shoulder. Our eyes meet. Hers are heavy, not with anger, not even with fear, but with that same dull, gnawing grief I feel hollowing out my chest.
She swallows, and her voice comes out quieter than before. Tired. Raw.
"Don't give up on me, Nekaro." Her fingers tighten around the bowl. "I don't know how many more I can lose."
And then she's gone, vanishing into the healer's hut like a ghost.
I didn't think it could feel more empty out here. I didn't think it could be more quiet. A cool breeze blows by, flowing through the tall grass like golden waves rippling across the landscape. There's a moment of peace, of rest, of quiet reflection that the air seems to carry with it. My father always used to say that the wind whispered tales if you were quiet enough to hear them. Right now it carries the faint scent of smoke and the sound of pained groans, but just yesterday it carried the smell of flowers and the song of birds.
The sharp smell of copper still hangs in the air, mingling with the distant moans from the hut behind me. The sound of pain, of suffering, is there, but my mind drifts—drifts back to yesterday, when the air had no weight to it, when the only thing we had to worry about was the sun in the sky and the path ahead of us.
"WAKE UP LAZY BONES!" The shout echoes through my hut, causing my eyes to snap open. I groan and sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as the dim morning light filters in the doorway.
"Ugh, alright, alright, I'm up. Do you have to be so loud every day?"
There it is. That stupid grin on his face. The one he wears when he knows he's being annoying.
"Well someone has to get you up Nekaro, otherwise you might miss breakfast and have to go without food until midday."
"Yeah, but couldn't you at least wait until the sun is all the way up to start yelling? You're going to wake up the whole village like that Tarenji."
I stretch my arms and legs, the lean muscle in my back pulling tight with the familiar ache of waking up too soon. My tail flicks lazily behind me as I get up from my straw bed. Five winters of morning patrols, and I still don't think I've ever gotten used to waking up this early.
Tarenji leans against the doorway, arms crossed and sighing like this is his struggle.
"I could wait," he says, "but then all the other scouts would be up too. Don't get me wrong, I like Nirah, but I can only listen to her scar stories so many times in a day."
I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. Nirah's a solid scout, no question, but she definitely has a habit of repeating the same three stories—especially the ones where she comes out the hero.
"Ugh, on second thought let's go."
Tarenji smiles and claps a hand on my back as I walk past him to leave the hut. "Yeah, bet you don't mind getting up so early now huh?"
"Yeah, whatever. I still think you're gonna be the death of me."
I strap my knife to my belt and grab my bow and quiver from where they lean by the door. No sense walking out unprepared. Tarenji's idea of a "quiet walk" has gotten me into trouble before.
Outside, the morning air is crisp and clean, brushing cool against the short ash-grey fur of my neck. Birds hidden in the sparse trees around the village are just beginning to sing, their notes soft and sleepy. I wander over to the nearest fire pit and sit down, stretching again while Tarenji hums to himself and grabs a few apples from a basket nearby. He tosses me one as he walks over.
"Come on, walk and chew scout-boy."
I sigh and stand up slowly, catching the apple with one hand. Where does his energy even come from?
"You can't even give me a proper meal before talking my ear off all day about some new spot that you found that you just have to show me?"
"Since when do you not like apples?"
I roll my eyes and take a bite, a bit of juice dripping down the fur at the edge of my muzzle. We head down the narrow trail leading out of the village, the one we've walked a hundred times before.
"Apples are fine, but you know what's better? Meat."
"Alright, you caught me," he says, grinning again with that playful glint in his eyes. "I didn't grab any eggs because I'm on thin ice with Ranos. He said the next time he catches me taking from his hens, he's going to shove an egg down my throat in my sleep. Cranky old man..."
I chuckle and shake my head gently. "Remind me how I got stuck with you?"
"Please, you'd be lost without me and you know it."
We walk side by side down the trail, in no rush. Tarenji always has some new landmark, cave, or broken ruin he wants to show me—and it's never as interesting as he makes it sound. But still... I go.
A scream cuts through the silence like a blade.I blink, the sound tearing me out of the warmth of that memory like a cold splash of water. For a heartbeat, I forget where I am. The village trail, the morning sun, Tarenji's laughter—they vanish like mist.
A heavy moan follows the scream from deeper within the healer's hut. Someone else they couldn't save. Or someone waking up to find out what they've lost.
A hand brushes my shoulder gently as one of the other survivors passes me by, eyes hollow but trying to offer comfort. I nod, but I don't speak. I don't want to be here right now. Not in this broken, blood-stained now.
I close my eyes again. Just for a moment. Let me go back—to before. Before the blood moon. Before the howling started.
"See, didn't I tell you that would be worth checking out?" Tarenji's cheerful voice makes me chuckle as he's talking to Nirah just ahead. I can hear her eyes roll from back here. "Tarenji, you would take interest in a bee circling a daisy the wrong way."
"Actually, it's funny you say that. I was out by myself yesterday and-"
"Gods above don't tell me you have a bee story..."
"Would you expect anything less?" I call out to them from behind. "If there's anyone in the Vale of Keshir that could make something that pointless into a story and sell it as interesting, it's Tarenji."
I feel an elbow playfully jab my side as another voice beside me speaks. "If only that silver tongue of his didn't get him into more trouble than it got him out of, eh?"
I turn towards the pale-furred man beside me as his whiskers tickle my cheek. I shake my head and respond playfully, listening to Tarenji telling his story in the background.
"You have no idea Tavrek. He was just telling me this morning about the trouble he's in with Ranos."
"What'd he do this time?"
"He's been stealing eggs and the elder caught him. Ranos threatened to choke Tarenji with the next egg he stole."
That earned a small, amused scoff from Tavrek as we walked closer to the village. My stomach growls, reminding me how hungry I am. The sun is beating down on our backs now, and I haven't eaten since first light this morning. Nirah's voice cuts through the air like a knife, drawing my attention back towards the two of them.
"Hey Nekaro, do you have arrows to spare? Tarenji could use some right about now. Preferably in his back."
"Hey, my stories may not be the most thrilling," Tarenji shoots back, "but at least I have plenty to choose from. Unlike some people that tell the same ones over and over again."
We all share a laugh and keep walking as they start going at each other. I reach out and touch the totem beside the trail leading into the village as I pass by, as do the other scouts. My fingers brush over the old painted stone as the lively sounds of children playing and huddled warriors sharing stories fills the air.
We follow the worn path past the painted stone markers and woven banners fluttering from sun-dried poles. The scent of cooking roots and slow-roasted meat hits me like a slap to the senses. I hear my stomach again—louder this time—and Tavrek laughs.
"You'll eat soon. Try not to bite anyone on the way in."
We round the bend near the weaver's alcove where baskets and dyes are laid out in tidy, sun-bleached rows. A few of the younger ones—apprentices maybe—look up and wave before ducking their heads shyly back down again. Tarenji, never one to miss an opportunity, gives them a two-fingered salute and a grin that probably gets him in more trouble than he admits.
"Stars help us," Nirah mutters.
The gathering place isn't far. Carved benches, weather-worn tables, and worn spots in the ground where a thousand footsteps have shaped the earth. There's already a hum of voices as others come and go—warriors, herders, a few elders resting in the shade. It's not a feast, but it feels like the village breathing in one slow, peaceful breath.
I don't even remember the first time I sat at one of these tables. It's just… always been this way.
Tarenji pulls something from his satchel and lets it clatter onto the table—a small, carved bone, scorched faintly on one side and still stained along the edges.
"You're still carrying that?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"The charm?" he says, like it's obvious. "It kept me alive during that gorge hunt last moon. Not about to tempt fate by tossing it now."
"You're supposed to burn it," I remind him. "After the third hunt, it's tradition. You release the spirit's guidance back to the wind."
He grins, leaning back with that infuriating confidence. "Or maybe I keep it, and the spirit figures I'm clever enough to be worth sticking with."
Tavrek snorts around a bite of roasted root. "Or maybe the spirit's just as stubborn as you are."
I shake my head but I'm smiling. Tarenji's always had a way of wriggling out of things—fights, mistakes, ancient customs. He doesn't always follow the rules, but somehow, they keep working in his favor.
"Crafty bastard," I mutter.
"Quick-footed too," he adds, winking. "Don't forget that part."
We eat and banter back and forth for a time, enjoying the warm atmosphere of the gathering hall at midday.
Nirah rises from her spot, clattering her empty bowl with theatrical flair as she heads for the communal pot.
"Getting more Varru. Shout now if you want to owe me."
Tarenji made a face across the table. I couldn't tell if it was at her or the food. Probably both. Varru isn't bad, it's packed with all the things a scout needs: Filling, easy to dry, and tough enough to survive a drop down a ravine. But seeing Nirah eat it like it was a treat always made me wonder if she had broken taste buds.
"I'll take some if you're feeling generous," Tavrek called after her. "Just not the kind that tastes like bark this time."
Nirah waved him off with a flick of her tail. "No promises."
She struts off to refill her bowl, carrying herself with the swagger of a peacock. On her way back, she nearly collides with a younger warrior, a boy with fresh white paint in his fur not yet dulled by dirt or blood.
"Careful little kitten," she teases, steadying him. "Wouldn't want to spill your guts before you've earned your first real scar."
The boy's eyes flick to her arms, where the lines of her hunter's paint curl slightly inward near the elbow—an odd flourish that sets her apart.
"Your marks… they're different," he says.
Nirah grins, all too ready. "Ah, sharp eyes. That's what I like to see in the next generation." She lifts her arm so he can see the detail. "These? You only get these if you survive what others don't."
She sits back down, and the rest of us at the table sigh or groan as she stretches her arms, clearly gearing up to spin the story we've all heard a hundred times.
Before she can dive in, a passing veteran—weathered, broad-shouldered, his fur dusted with ash—pauses just long enough to mutter,
"It means she's come back from a hunt alone before."
He keeps walking. Nirah watches him go for half a heartbeat, then shrugs and lowers her arms.
"Well," she says, reclaiming her grin, "that's one way to say it."
The memory hangs in the air—just a breath—before it fades.And then I'm here again.
Back outside the healer's den, sitting in the dust with my leg bound tight and a dull ache where the pain used to burn. The scent of blood hasn't gone. It clings to the air, to me.
I glance down at my arm.
No marks. Not yet. Just fur and skin, scraped raw and stained by everything we lost.
I trace the place where they'll go one day—where hers curled near the elbow. I used to tease her about those lines. Said they looked like she'd let a cub paint them. She laughed and told me they were earned the hard way.
And now I understand.
I let my hand fall to my lap, fingers curling against the empty space she left behind.
Damn it, Nirah.
I close my eyes. It's too quiet here.
Tali emerged from the healer's hut just as the sun began to dip behind the hills, casting long shadows across the bloodstained grass. Her shoulders slumped, tail dragging like a banner in defeat. She didn't speak at first—just walked past me, lowered herself to the ground with a muted groan, and pulled her knees up to her chest.
For a long moment, neither of us said anything. The air between us was filled only with the distant hush of wind and the low murmurs behind the tent walls. I listened to them the way you listen to thunder when you already know the storm's moved on.
Tali rubbed her face, voice raw when it finally came out.
"They're sleeping now. Or unconscious. Honestly, I don't know which is better."
I nodded. I didn't trust my voice not to crack.
She glanced over at me. "You're still here."
"Nowhere better to be," I murmured, though we both knew that wasn't quite true.
She looked away again, blinking slowly, like the effort of staying awake was its own kind of pain.
"One of the younger ones," she said. "He asked about someone."
I didn't respond. Just blinked slowly, like maybe the words would make more sense if I gave them time to settle.
"He'd been helping carry the wounded… before he got brought in himself. Think he might've seen you—or her—when they were moving you. Hard to tell. He was in bad shape. Arms torn up near to the bone, a long gash cutting down his face…" Her voice softened. "He was so young."
My throat felt dry. I tried to speak anyway.
"Who'd he ask about?"
Tali's eyes didn't quite meet mine. "The one with the hunt marks. Wanted to know if she made it back."
I didn't say anything. For a while, the only sound was the wind outside the hut, slipping through the wood like a whisper.
Then I reached up, fingers brushing over the bare skin of my forearm—where my marks would go. Not yet inked, but waiting. I'd survived something worth remembering. That was all it meant. I came back when they didn't. Part of me wishes I hadn't.
Tali didn't speak right away. When she did, her voice was quieter than before.
"I don't know how many actually made it back here in one piece…"
That was the truth of it, wasn't it? Even those who walked still carried pieces of death clinging to their fur, hiding in their eyes, caught in the edges of their breath.
Tali didn't speak right away. When she did, her voice was barely more than breath.
"Some of them came in… but not many. Not like we hoped."
The words hung there between us, heavy and uncertain, like she wasn't sure if she was even saying them to me or just to the quiet.
I stare straight ahead, my eyes fixed on a figure far on the horizon, one I can't see clearly. He waves to me from behind the setting sun, yet his voice is as clear as if he were sitting where Tali sits. Her bloodstained hands rest in her lap before slowly moving to the ground, as if she's finally too tired to hold even their weight.
The only sound filling the air now is the wind's sharp howl, cold and empty. My voice sounds just as empty as it does when I finally work up the courage to speak.
"He knew those woods better than anyone... he knew every single cave, hole, and den between here and the Ironspine. He was fast. He was smart. I know he made it. He's still out there somewhere."
I can feel her eyes on me without even looking. I hear her voice saying my name, but I'm not sure how many times she said it before I turn to her. Her eyes are full of understanding, and a need to know more.
"What happened out there last night?"
There it is. The blade to my throat. The question I can't answer, but have to anyway.
I close my eyes. Just for a breath. Just long enough to remember.
The scent of dirt still clings to my fur. The tang of blood, both ours and theirs, is carved into my tongue. The sky was red—no, not red. It was bleeding. We all knew what that meant. We'd felt it before, in stories whispered at the edge of firelight.
But stories don't scream like that.
I shift my weight, leg burning, body heavy. The pain's a small thing now. A whisper beneath the roar in my head.
"I remember the way the moon rose… like it was dragged across the sky against its will," I say, not to her, not to anyone. "And everything after that—"
I suck in a breath.
"Everything after that was teeth."
Tali doesn't speak. She doesn't interrupt. She just sits beside me, quiet and steady.
I turn my head finally, my voice low.
"I'll tell you."
A pause.
"But you won't want to hear it."
Another pause.
"And I can't promise you I'll make it to the end."
She nods once, solemn and slow. "Then start where you can."
So I do.
The sun had only just slipped behind the jagged line of the western hills, bleeding orange into a sky that hadn't yet turned. That strange hour between day and night, where shadows grow long but the warmth still lingers, was always the quietest time in the village.I sat cross-legged by the elder's kiln, watching flickers of firelight reflect in the clay-streaked water basin as Tavrek argued with Nirah about how to properly stack kiln tiles for airflow. Tarenji leaned against a low stone wall just behind them, chewing on a dried fruit rind, clearly amused by the whole ordeal.
"You're going to choke the heat if you pack it like that," Nirah insisted, her hands halfway up to gesture before realizing they were still smeared with red clay. She grimaced, wiped them on her thigh, and tried again. "You have to angle the vent slats so the smoke rises clean, not curl back down into the firebox."
Tavrek made a show of folding his arms, squinting down at the half-built stack. "I've been doing this longer than you've been painting your damn cheeks, girl. The fire listens to me."
"Yeah? Is that why your last three bowls cracked like frostbitten stonefruit?" she shot back, grinning now.
I smirked and reached for a half-shaped tile near my foot. "You two gonna bicker the moon into rising, or can I help with the stack?"
"You can try to help," Tavrek said, rolling his eyes. "But that means you'll be wrong, too."
"Means you'll have someone to blame when your bowls explode again," Tarenji muttered around the rind, and I heard Nirah stifle a laugh.
For a moment, everything was exactly what it should be—warm, loud, familiar. The village around us breathed with quiet life: distant talk, the clatter of dishes, the rustle of wind slipping through the trees overhead. The world hadn't ended yet.
But even then, I think we all felt something in our chests that we didn't say out loud.
A shape moved across the firelight behind me—Chief Serak, quiet but not without presence. He stopped near the kiln, one arm slung across his midsection like he'd just finished eating.
"You four," he said simply. "I need your eyes."
The teasing died instantly.
Serak glanced toward the hills. "Hunters from the southern bluff should've been back before sundown. Not like them to vanish without a word." He paused, letting the implication hang for a beat. "Take a quick sweep. Just check the ridge line. I want to make sure nothing's... off."
Tarenji stood upright at once, his jaw tight. "You want quiet eyes or fast ones?"
"Both," the Chief said. "But don't run blind. Stay sharp. If you see anything—anything—strange, you come back and tell me first. Don't try to be heroes."
The fire crackled behind us as he walked away.
I looked around the group. Nirah wiped her hands on a rag and tied her paint pouch shut. Tavrek cracked his knuckles and sighed, reaching for his walking stave. Tarenji nodded once, already moving toward the path.
And without another word, we all ventured out into the night.
Nirah was leading, which left Tarenji's mind free to think about more than where we were heading. Not that he needed to pay much attention since this was a trail we'd been down a hundred times. We weren't far from the village when Tarenji sighed.
"Who all went out to hunt today?"
Nirah looked out at the treeline a short ways ahead as she responded.
"Shael, Rali, Haren…"
"Haren and Rali were in the same group?" Tarenji asks with a small, amused snort. "No wonder they still haven't made it back. They probably spent the first few hours arguing over the patterns in the first set of tracks they found."
"Ressan was with them too," Tavrek adds, walking in step with us just a little behind Nirah. "He would've kept them in line."
I chime in at that point. "Ressan may be a seasoned hunter, but last time he went out with Haren he came back early without him because Haren was trying to show off and ended up in a creek."
Tarenji speaks up once more, not missing the chance to reinforce his point. "Exactly! Ressan doesn't have the patience to deal with their nonsense anymore. Add someone as green as Shael and you have a group that probably won't get much done."
Nirah crouches down as we get past the edge of the treeline and inspects some tracks on the ground. Elk. We all recognize it the moment we see it.
"I'd guess about two, maybe three days old," Tavrek says as he looks down at the tracks.
Tarenji leaned against a boulder and took a pull from his waterskin. "Yep, and I bet Rali convinced the others it was fresh enough to track."
"Then they would've sent a runner back," Nirah said flatly. "You don't chase a trail past dusk without saying something. Not unless you're green."
Tavrek added flatly, "Or Tarenji."
"Oh come on, it's been six moons at least since that happened," Tarenji defends. "Plus, that wasn't even my fault."
I smirk and roll my eyes. "Who's fault was it then?"
"Miro's," Tarenji replies after a short pause.
"She wasn't even with you," Nirah says, shaking her head as she gets up and starts walking again.
Right as Tarenji starts to defend himself, I look up at the sky. The sun went down nearly an hour ago and still the sky was a deep crimson. Odd, but not unusual enough to be alarmed. Different times of year and weather patterns can make the sky do weirder things.
We hadn't been walking long past the treeline when Nirah suddenly slowed. She crouched near a bend in the trail where the roots of a thick-barked pine split the soil. Her fingers skimmed the soft earth.
"Prints," she said. "Booted. Four sets."
Tavrek stepped beside her, adjusting his grip on his walking stave. "Weight's wrong for a patrol. They were carrying something—or dragging it."
Tarenji whistled low, still chewing the end of his fruit rind. "Maybe Haren finally bagged something without getting stuck in a ravine."
Nirah didn't look up. "Too shallow for fresh kill. They weren't hauling game."
I stepped a little closer, scanning the treeline. "If they passed through Splitroot Bend, they should've circled north by now, but these tracks veer west."
"That'd take them toward Dry Hollow," Tavrek noted. "Not a usual run unless they lost the trail."
"Or someone got cocky," Tarenji muttered, brushing past a thorny shrub. "Rali's the type to try and skirt the Hollow 'cause it 'saves time.' Never mind the dropoff."
He pointed toward a broken stem of brush near a thin animal trail.
"See that bend? That's the slope just above the Boneway. Steep, loose soil. You slip once out there, you're not walking back."
"I thought Ressan banned them from cutting that trail after last season," I said, narrowing my eyes. "Shael twisted her ankle on that same ridge, didn't she?"
"Twice," Nirah muttered, already walking again. "And Ressan isn't the kind to ignore his own rules. So if they did go that way, it wasn't on his suggestion."
Tavrek's brow furrowed slightly. "You think they split up?"
"No." Nirah's voice was low, sure. "Not this far out. Not this close to dusk."
Tarenji walked a little ahead now, voice lighter. "Or maybe they just chased ghosts again. Remember two hunts ago when Rali thought he saw frost elk sign and it turned out to be a goat with a limp?"
I chuckled. "You're never letting him live that down, are you?"
"Not until he stops calling himself a 'beastreader,'" Tarenji grinned. "That goat nearly gored him."
We laughed, but as the path narrowed and the trees grew close again, something shifted. The wind carried a strange hush. Not wrong, but not right either.
The sky above was still that same rich crimson, like someone had dragged hot coals across the clouds. Beautiful—unsettling. My eyes caught on the ridge ahead. A place we all knew.
"That's the old boundary line," Nirah said quietly. "If their trail runs past Splitroot and crosses Boneway, they're deeper than we thought."
We all went still for a breath, just listening. No birdsong. Just wind.
Tavrek muttered, "They should've doubled back long before that."
No one disagreed.
We were about forty minutes out from the ridge line when Tavrek stopped walking.
"You see that?"
I turned to follow his gaze. At first glance, nothing stood out—just wind-worn brush and dry leaves scattered across the trail. But then Nirah crouched and pointed with two fingers.
"Not elk," she murmured. "Too wide. Spacing's wrong."
I stepped closer. The earth was soft here, tucked near the shade of a long-dead tree. Something had passed this way. Heavier than deer. Not pawed like a bear. Rounded toes. Dug deep.
"Booted," Nirah confirmed, her voice low. "But too big for any of the hunters."
We exchanged a glance.
Tarenji tried to brush it off, his tone still light. "Could be one of the western traders cutting through early. You know how they are. No sense of route or reason."
"Not this far into the timber," Nirah said flatly. "And not off trail."
The trees thickened ahead. Even with the firefly-glow of fungal blooms tucked along the roots, the path felt darker than it should. We knew this forest too well for it to feel unfamiliar.
We moved on.
At the base of Hollow Tooth Rock—a massive split-stone outcrop the hunters used as a landmark—Tarenji kicked something half-buried in the moss. It clinked.
He bent down and retrieved it: a snapped arrowhead. Bronze-forged, Vaal'Kesh make. Worn, but recent. The shaft was gone. No blood.
"Could be Ressan's," Tavrek said, but his voice lacked certainty.
"Or not," I muttered.
Tavrek caught the sound first. His arm shot out across Nirah's chest, halting her mid-step.
"Movement," he muttered, his ears flicking toward the thicker brush ahead. "Fast."
We froze, every one of us still as stone. I shifted my grip on my spear and crouched instinctively, scanning the undergrowth. The light had gone fully red now, and shadows moved wrong beneath the trees.
Then came the sound of crashing leaves—too loud for a deer, too erratic for any predator. It was stumbling, desperate.
And then she burst through the brush, half-falling as she ran.
"Shael?" Nirah gasped, stepping forward before Tavrek pulled her back.
The younger huntress staggered to her knees, panting like she'd forgotten how to breathe. Her fur was streaked with blood—not hers, not all of it. A cut ran along her shoulder and another across her thigh, both hastily bandaged with cloth that had since soaked through.
"I didn't stop," she rasped. "I didn't—there wasn't time—"
Nirah knelt beside her, ignoring the blood, the mess. "Hey. Look at me. What happened?"
Shael's eyes were wide, unfocused. "We—we found tracks," she said. "Big ones. Not hooves. Not paws. We thought it might be travelers or scouts from the southern ridge. Rali said it was nothing. So did Haren. They laughed at me for worrying."
She coughed, voice shaking now.
"We followed them anyway. Started getting this feeling like—like we were being watched. Rali said it was just dusk playing tricks. Then—then the howling started."
She doubled over, hands on her head.
"I ran," she whispered. "I don't know how long. A half-turn maybe? I couldn't tell anymore. I just ran until I couldn't hear them behind me. Until I couldn't hear anything anymore."
Nirah's jaw clenched. "Who was left?"
Shael shook her head, trembling. "I don't know. I didn't look back. I just—someone was following me. Close. Breathing like they were right behind me, even when I couldn't see them. I don't know how I got away."
Tavrek knelt on the other side of her. "You're sure they weren't animals?"
Shael blinked. "No. Not animals. They were too quiet at first. Then they moved like—like they knew exactly where to step. Like they weren't chasing, they were driving us. Herding."
Silence fell between us like a dropped blade.
Nirah stood, her expression already hardened. "We can't waste time. We need to split up."
Tarenji glanced at her sharply. "Split?"
Nirah stood, already reading the shadows between the trees. "Tavrek and I will follow the trail Shael came from. If there's any chance the others are still alive, we have to move now."
Tarenji's gaze flicked to Shael, then to me. "She's barely standing. Someone has to get her back."
"I'll do it," he said before I could speak.
I blinked. "You sure?"
He nodded once. "You'll be more use here. If something's coming, you'll see it. And they'll need your eyes."
"Tarenji—"
He stepped forward, clapped a hand on my shoulder. "You said it yourself. I'm fast. And besides, I know these woods better than anyone."
His grip lingered for a second longer than it should have.
"I'll get her back to Serak," he said, glancing at Nirah and Tavrek. "If I'm not back before the moon's high, assume the worst."
"You're not going to die out there," I said. "None of us are."
Tarenji grinned. "I appreciate the optimism."
Nirah crouched by Shael, helping her upright. "The longer we wait, the colder their trail gets."
Shael swayed, blood crusted along her shoulder and thigh. She said nothing, just clenched her jaw and let Tarenji brace her.
He looked back at me once, the red light casting deep shadows under his eyes.
"I'll see you soon," he said.
"Yeah," I muttered. "Just try not to get lost without me."
Tarenji smirked. "I don't get lost."
"You do when I'm not around."
That got a short laugh. He turned, helping Shael limp through the underbrush, back toward the village.
I watched him go, something heavy settling in my chest. I didn't know it then—not really—but part of me already feared that would be the last time I saw him.
We should've turned back the moment the air shifted.
There's something the old ones say—about the way prey always knows it's being hunted long before the first paw ever hits the ground. That sixth sense, that twitch in the spine.
I felt it.
But by the time I recognized the dread curling in my gut, it was too late.
A howl rang out through the trees, followed by the crash of bodies bursting from the underbrush. Shadows moved with uncanny speed, splitting apart, circling, flanking. Tavrek shouted a warning just as a massive form slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Nirah spun on instinct, blades already in her hands.
They weren't beasts.
They were people. No—wolves that stood upright and fought like men, draped in ash-dark leather, fur dusted in red pigment, some with bone totems braided into their manes. One bore face paint in the shape of a snarl. Another's chest was marked with ritual scars.
They were the Bloodhowls. Echoes of Fenra.
I had heard the stories. Everyone in the Vale had. But nothing could have prepared me for this. They didn't speak. They didn't rage. They just moved like the wind. Like death itself given form.
One came for me, and I barely got my blade up in time. His strike numbed my arm, sending a jolt through my shoulder. I staggered back, pivoted—and pain tore through my leg. A flash of metal, a curved blade. I cried out, collapsing hard on my side as warm blood flooded down into the earth beneath my foot.
I tried to scramble up. Couldn't.
Nearby, Tavrek roared, breaking free from his attacker, driving a knife deep into its side. The Bloodhowl howled—rage, not pain—and grabbed Tavrek by the neck, slamming him into a tree. Bark cracked. Tavrek dropped his second blade, but then lunged, sinking the first deeper in. They fell together, locked in a brutal tangle, Tavrek refusing to die quietly.
But Nirah, gods above, Nirah fought like fire.
Two came for her. She met them head-on. Her blades flashed, fast and precise. One staggered back, blood spraying from a cut across his snout. The other ducked low, trying to flank her, but she twisted just in time, carving across his thigh. There was a rhythm to her movements, practiced and brutal. The marks on her arms weren't just for show.
She was holding them.
And then he appeared atop the ridge.
Lit by the dying red sky, his figure cut a silhouette against the haze. Towering, poised, unmoving. His fur was a mix of white and deep burgundy, the colors clinging to him like smoke and blood. A long polearm gleamed at his side, shaped like a curved fang. His eyes burned, steady and cold.
And there—etched across his left shoulder, curling over his collarbone—was a tattoo I couldn't mistake. A crescent moon wrapped in fangs. I didn't know its meaning, but I'd remember it forever.
He watched.
He was watching her.
Nirah struck again, driving one of them to a knee, only for the other to slash her back. She whirled, too slow this time, and the wounded one lunged. Teeth flashed. There was a scream from her and a snarl from him. She hit the ground hard, gasping, trying to rise.
She never got the chance.
I froze. My leg burned. My chest ached.
I heard footsteps nearby, then a grunt. Tavrek.
He was still alive… barely.
One of the Bloodhowls stood over him, watching him try to move. Then a whisper, so soft I almost didn't hear it.
"No more pain, brother."
Steel bit into him a moment later, and the silence that followed that moment hurt worse than any pain I felt up to now.
Footsteps, soft and deliberate, swept through the tall grass nearby. Shadows moved just beyond my reach, blurred in the corners of my dimming sight.
"Two ran," one of them said, their voice rough.
"Both east?" another answered.
"Aye. The young one carried the girl."
"Chase them."
"They won't get far."
I tried to speak, to beg them to stop, as if my words could somehow change what would happen next. My voice came out as a weak whisper, the pain in my voice evident as I struggled to speak.
"T…Tarenji…"
It came out broken, more breath than voice, but it was enough for them to hear me. The grass rustled again, closer this time. A shape approached—large, upright, and wolfish. Another came behind it. I couldn't lift my head, but I felt the weight of their eyes on me.
One of them stopped near. I could see her feet. They were bare, scarred, and braced like roots in the dirt. He loomed over me, and I knew this was the end.
I breathed in slowly. Not a plea. Not a prayer. Just a breath to feel the world one last time.
But then—
"Wait."
The voice was calm, commanding. A third figure had stepped forward, quiet until now. The others hesitated.
A moment passed. Then the one who spoke knelt down beside me, low enough that I could just make out a pale streak through his dark fur, the gleam of a pendant around his neck.
His eyes found mine. They were pale blue, clear and sharp like moonlight on frost. He seemed to not be looking through me more than he was looking at me, as if he could see who I was, what I'd been through, and what I lost.
"He bears the Fangmother's Claim," he said.
No one spoke, and without another word, they stood and turned, slipping back into the grass where they vanished like mist. They followed the trail left by Tarenji and Shael, their howls echoing further and further away from me.
I was left alone. Alive.I laid there on the ground for a while after they left. It took a little bit for the deep pain in my leg to really drive me to crawl away, to struggle to find help. Maybe I had to come to terms with what I saw before my body could properly process the pain I was in. I crawled, bloodied and broken, for what felt like days, but must have been only hours since I didn't die on the way back. I don't even remember reaching the village, only the cold and the sound of someone screaming for help as my vision faded to black.
"After that, I awoke to the smell of medicine and a fresh, searing pain in my wound. Somehow I was found and brought to Mehra. You know the rest from there."
The sun's almost gone now.
Evening settles over the village like ash.
The kind of quiet that only follows ruin.
I've been sitting here most of the day—just outside the healer's hut, back against the outer wall, leg stretched out in front of me where they bound it. The pain's dulled, but it's still there, pulsing in time with my heart. Steady. Faint. A reminder that I'm alive.
I don't feel alive.
Tali's nearby. I can hear her breathing. She hasn't spoken in a while. Not since I finished. Not since I told her everything.
All that blood. All the screaming. The silence that followed.
She's seen the aftermath.
Now she knows the rest.
I shift a little, wincing as the movement pulls at the bandages. My chest aches—something deeper than the bruises. I reach up to press against the dull throb, and my fingers brush something stiff. Crusted.
I glance down.
The wrappings are loose there—tugged slightly open. Beneath the smear of blood and dirt, something has dried against my fur.
A curve. Faint, but sharp at the edges. Below it, three short strokes, like claws dragged downward.
It looks accidental. A mess, maybe. But… It feels deliberate.
My fingers linger over it. I can't remember when it happened. I don't know whose blood it is. Maybe Tavrek's. Maybe mine. Maybe theirs.
But the shape…
I've never seen anything like it.
"Tali," I murmur, voice quieter than I mean it to be. "Do you…"
I trail off. What would I even ask?
She doesn't answer, she just watches.
The evening wind stirs the air. Carries the scent of smoke and medicine and too many burned offerings.
I let the cloth fall back over the mark, covering it again.
My hand stays there a moment longer, pressed flat against my chest like I'm trying to feel something I can't name.
I don't know why I'm still alive.
I don't know why they spared me.
But I remember the way he looked at me. It was not with mercy or kindness, but with purpose. Like he already knew what I'd carry with me when he walked away. Like something greater had already decided I'd live.
And he was only there to make it so.