The forest felt smaller.
Not physically.
Phthisis knew that.
The trees hadn't moved closer.
The road hadn't narrowed.
The sky hadn't lowered.
Yet somehow everything felt closer than yesterday.
The branches.
The shadows.
The silence.
As though Red Rain had spent the night learning the shape of them.
—
Breakfast tasted like damp wood.
Nobody mentioned it.
Nobody mentioned much of anything.
Korath attempted conversation twice.
Both attempts died peacefully.
The prince eventually surrendered.
"Well."
He poked his stew.
"I tried."
The stoneblood escort grunted.
That seemed to count as encouragement.
—
They resumed marching shortly after sunrise.
The road wound between red trunks that stretched endlessly into the distance.
No birds.
No animals.
No insects large enough to notice.
Only the occasional creak of wood somewhere beyond sight.
Slow.
Heavy.
Patient.
—
Around midday, Phthisis finally heard a sound.
A chirp.
Soft.
High.
Normal.
He stopped walking.
The chirp came again.
Ahead.
Above.
His eyes lifted.
There.
A bird perched among the crimson branches.
Small.
Grey.
White chest.
Black-tipped wings.
Phthisis frowned.
Luckwerker.
Strange.
Very strange.
The bird tilted its head.
Then vanished into the canopy.
—
He said nothing.
At first.
—
An hour later he saw another.
Different branch.
Same species.
Watching.
Still silent.
—
The third appeared near sunset.
That was when the feeling arrived.
Not fear.
Wrongness.
The sort that scratched quietly at the back of the mind.
Luckwerkers migrated south during winter.
Everyone knew that.
Children knew that.
Farmers knew that.
Birds certainly knew that.
Yet here they were.
Deep within Red Rain.
—
The campfire that night was smaller again.
Phthisis was beginning to suspect the wood itself was shrinking.
—
A twig snapped somewhere beyond the trees.
Nobody reacted.
Not one person.
Not even Korath.
That bothered him more than the sound.
—
Later, while most of the camp slept, Phthisis wandered beyond the firelight.
Only a little.
Just enough to think.
The forest watched him.
He couldn't explain how he knew.
But it did.
—
Something pale caught his eye.
High above.
Perched among the branches.
Another Luckwerker.
Closer this time.
Much closer.
Phthisis stepped forward.
Then stopped.
The bird wasn't moving.
Not breathing.
Not blinking.
Not anything.
Slowly, he approached.
The smell reached him first.
Old blood.
Rot.
The same smell that had haunted the forest since entering.
His expression flattened.
"...Ah."
The bird was dead.
Very dead.
Its body hung upright among the branches.
Held in place by thin red roots woven through flesh and bone.
The wings remained spread.
Almost proudly.
As though someone had posed it.
Phthisis stared silently.
Then followed the roots upward.
More birds.
Dozens.
Maybe hundreds.
Hidden among the canopy.
Every single one dead.
Every single one arranged.
Watching.
—
He stood there for a long time.
The forest creaked softly overhead.
Satisfied.
—
Back at camp he noticed something he should've noticed days ago.
A symbol stitched into one of the supply banners.
A bird.
Wings spread wide.
Head turned slightly upward.
Luckwerker.
—
Phthisis looked toward Korath.
The prince sat near the fire attempting to teach a hunter a card game neither of them understood.
Laughing.
Talking.
Oblivious.
—
A cold feeling settled into his stomach.
Not fear.
Understanding.
—
The birds weren't here because they belonged in Red Rain.
The birds weren't even alive.
They were signs.
—
His eyes moved slowly upward toward the endless crimson canopy.
Toward the hundreds of dead Luckwerkers hidden among the branches.
Toward the forest.
The living forest.
The thinking forest.
The forest that had known exactly which bird to choose.
—
"...Right."
Phthisis exhaled softly.
"That's not concerning at all."
—
The next morning the convoy departed before sunrise.
Nobody looked rested.
Nobody asked why.
—
As the camp disappeared behind them, Phthisis noticed the veteran stoneblood studying the trees.
Not searching.
Watching.
Waiting.
Like someone expecting bad news.
Their eyes met briefly.
The woman looked away first.
—
It makes sense.
—
The realization arrived slowly.
Not all at once.
Piece by piece.
Like teeth closing.
The guides never questioned strange paths.
The hunters never investigated noises.
The escorts never discussed disappearances.
And nobody—
Nobody—
Had reacted to the birds.
—
They knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
Enough to avoid speaking.
Enough to avoid looking.
Enough to pretend.
—
Phthisis glanced toward Korath.
The prince was humming to himself.
Completely unaware.
—
Then he looked up at Red Rain.
The forest creaked.
Slowly.
Almost thoughtfully.
Like something enormous shifting its weight.
Watching its chosen prey continue down the road.
Waiting.
Patiently.
For the right moment to stop pretending it wasn't hunting.