Sky didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
The world narrowed to the single finger pointing toward the tree. The hunter's eyes locked on their hollow like twin spears of suspicion. "I saw something," he said again.
Damn it. He'd thought they passed. He should've scented them sooner, should've felt them sooner.
He pressed his back tighter to the hollow's inner curve, wrapping both arms protectively around the bundle of eggs cradled in his coat. The bark dug into his shoulder blades, but he didn't shift. Couldn't.
Three men. Maybe four — their scents were muddled with damp leaves and old blood. Hunters.
The kind who didn't just want coin.
The kind who enjoyed killing.
Again, he could take them. Probably. They were armed, but he hadn't seen magical items. Still… He didn't know what charms they might carry, what sigils might be carved into the edges of their blades. And the eggs—
His eyes flicked down.
