I woke before the sun. The valley was dark, the fire low. Most people were still sleeping, huddled in their lean‑tos. I could hear someone snoring. A baby cried somewhere, then stopped. The fog was thick, pressing down on the village like a wet blanket.
I sat up, stretched my arms, and walked to the edge of the village. The ground was cold under my bare feet. The grass was wet with dew.
Lora was already awake. She was sitting on a log, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the embers. Her hair was messy. She looked tired.
"You're up early," she said.
"I want to scout the north ridge before the sun gets high."
She stood up and handed me a piece of bread. It was hard, leftover from yesterday, but I took it. "Don't take risks," she said.
"I won't."
I tucked the bread into my pocket, picked up my knife, and walked toward the hills.
---
The path to the north ridge was rough. The ground was soft from last night's dew. My boots left deep prints in the mud. The trees were thick, their branches low and wet. I had to push through, and twice I nearly lost my footing on loose stones covered in moss.
I thought about the claw marks Rik had found. Deep gouges in the bark of an old oak, near the edge of the forest. He said they were big. Too big for a bear. Too high for a wolf.
I touched the knife at my belt. It was a simple blade, nothing special. It wouldn't stop a monster. But it was better than nothing. I had faced worse. The troglodyte. The goblins. But that was different. I had been a core then, small, fast, able to transform. Now I was in this porcelain body, heavier, slower. The knife was all I had.
I walked on.
The forest got denser. The light got dimmer. The trees blocked the sky. I moved slow, stepping on rocks and hard roots to hide my own trail. I didn't know if the thing could smell me, but I wasn't taking chances. I had learned that in the cave – sound and scent could get you killed.
The forest was quiet. No birds. No squirrels. Just the wind in the leaves and my own breathing. The silence was heavy. It pressed on my ears.
After an hour, I found the tree. The claw marks were still there. Deep. Four parallel gouges, each as long as my hand. The edges were dry now, the wood starting to heal. Sap had oozed from the wounds and hardened. The thing hadn't been here recently. Maybe a week ago. Maybe more.
But it had been here. And it would come back.
I followed the tracks deeper into the forest.
The ground was soft, carpeted with fallen leaves. The tracks were faint – large impressions, wide, with claw marks at the front. Whatever made them walked on four legs. Heavy. Slow. I followed them for another half hour, pushing through ferns, ducking under low branches.
The trees got thicker. The light got dimmer. I felt like I was walking into a tunnel.
Then I found the deer.
It lay on its side, half-eaten. The bones were cracked open, the marrow gone. The meat was still pink in places, not yet rotten. Flies buzzed around it. The smell was thick, sweet, rotten.
I knelt and looked closer. The bite marks on the ribs were large – not a wolf. Not a bear. Something with teeth like needles. The marks matched the claw tree.
I looked around. No sounds. No movement. Just the wind.
Then I saw the fur.
A patch of coarse grey hair, caught on a low branch near the carcass. I pulled it off. It was thick, rough, almost like wire. I held it up to the light. I'd never seen anything like it. Not from any animal I knew.
I heard a low growl. Distant. Echoing between the hills.
I stopped breathing.
The growl came again. Not close, but not far. Maybe a few hundred paces ahead. Deep. Rumbling. It vibrated in my chest.
I didn't move for a full minute. My heart pounded in my ears. My hand was on my knife, but I knew it wouldn't help.
The growl came a third time. Then silence.
I turned around. Slowly. Quietly. I didn't run. Running would make noise. Running would attract it.
I walked back the way I came, stepping on the same rocks, the same roots. My legs were shaking. My breath was shallow.
I didn't stop until I was out of the forest.
---
I didn't go back to the village right away. I climbed a rocky outcrop to the east, away from the forest, away from the sound.
The climb was steep. My hands scraped the stone. My boots slipped twice, and I caught myself on a root. But at the top, the view was clear.
The forest stretched to the east, green and dark, the trees like a sea of leaves. Hills rose to the west, their tops hidden in fog. And to the south, far in the distance, a thin plume of smoke.
Not from a campfire. Too steady. Too grey. Too tall.
Soldiers? A patrol? A traveler's camp? I couldn't tell. It was too far away. But it was there. Someone was out there.
I pulled a piece of bark from a dead tree. I used a charred stick to sketch a rough map – the ridge, the deer carcass, the smoke, the village. I marked the spot where I'd heard the growl. I marked the deer. I marked the smoke.
Then I climbed down and walked back.
---
The sun was low when I reached Ashridge. The fog had lifted. People were lighting the evening fires. The smell of smoke and cooking filled the valley. A few children were playing near the stream. Someone was singing – an old song, soft and sad.
Elias met me at the edge of the village. His face was worried.
"What did you find?" he asked.
"Something big is out there," I said. "Not close, but not far. It killed a deer a few days ago. I heard it growl."
"Did you see it?"
"No. Just the fur. Grey. Thick. Not from anything I know."
Elias's face was pale. "Could be a cave beast. They come up from the deep holes sometimes."
I thought about the shaft. About the hole in the first valley. About the crystals and the darkness. But I didn't say it.
"And the smoke," I said. "South. Far, but steady. Could be nothing. Could be a patrol."
Elias looked toward the hills. "We need a permanent lookout. Someone watching every night."
"I'll set one up tomorrow."
---
I sat by the fire. The flames were low. The soup was thin, but it was warm. Lora sat beside me.
"You're quiet," she said.
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"The thing in the forest. The smoke. If they find us..."
"They won't."
"You don't know that."
She touched my hand. Her fingers were cold. "We've survived worse. Oakhaven. The journey. We're still here."
I nodded. But I didn't believe her.
---
The village slept. The fire died. The stars came out.
I lay in my lean‑to, staring at the roof of branches. I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard the growl. Every time I opened them, I saw the smoke.
I reached for my knife. It was still there, cold against my palm.
Then I heard something.
A twig snapped. Close.
I sat up.
The village was dark. The fire was out. The moon was behind a cloud. I couldn't see anything. Just shadows.
Another snap. Closer. Maybe twenty paces away.
I stepped out of the lean‑to, knife in hand. The air was cold. The fog had rolled in again. It swirled around my feet.
I saw them.
Two glowing eyes. Yellow. Reflecting the starlight. At the edge of the village, near the path to the stream. Low to the ground. Watching.
I held my breath. My hand tightened on the knife.
The eyes blinked. Then they turned and disappeared into the darkness. No sound of footsteps. No rustle of leaves. Just gone.
I stood there for a long time, heart pounding, knife shaking in my hand.
The thing had found us.
I whispered to the dark: "It found us."
No answer.
Just the wind.