The first light of morning bled through the thicket, low and golden, stirring the mist that clung to the underbrush.
Leaves glistened wet beneath the dawn, tiny droplets catching the light like scattered glass.
A bird called once, then again — hesitant, as if testing the day.
The fire had long since burned down to ash, leaving only the faintest warmth curled into the soil.
Rasha blinked awake, stretching slowly beneath the worn blanket.
The ache in her back was dulled by the softness of real earth beneath her — not sand, not stone, but soil that held warmth and gave a little when pressed.
Beside her, Talo stirred with a grunt, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
A beetle crawled past his boot. He didn't notice.
They sat up without speaking, brushing the night's cool from their skin.
The world felt softer here, as if even the sun moved slower.
Somewhere nearby, water trickled — not loud, just a thread of sound weaving through the thicket.
It smelled of sage and wet bark.
Their breakfast was meager — the last of the dried sand hare, split evenly between them.
They ate cross-legged on a blanket that still smelled faintly of smoke and sage ash.
Rasha chewed thoughtfully, savoring each bite not for the flavor, but for the simple weight of it in her body.
The food wasn't enough, but it was something — and that meant they could move.
When the last scraps were gone, Talo licked his fingers and dusted his hands on his trousers.
"We're gonna need to replace it," he said simply. "No telling how far the next meal is."
Rasha nodded, her gaze distant.
She remembered the flickering echoes she had felt the night before — the soft life that drifted past her touch like sparks in the dark.
But they were farther now, already gone into the wild.
She closed her eyes, willing her spirit outward — reaching, searching carefully beyond breath and bone.
No new touches came.
Only a distant, fading pull toward familiar spirits she had already known — echoes she could no longer follow.
When she opened her eyes, her frown said enough.
"They're not close," she said.
Talo stood, brushing dust from his trousers. His silhouette cut clean against the soft dawn light.
"Which means we're hunting the old way."
She nodded, accepting it — not with dread, but readiness.
Talo crouched, scanning the ground, fingers brushing the dry soil.
Tiny ants moved through the grit beside him, weaving between broken roots. He didn't disturb them.
"There," he said, pointing. "Disturbed sand. Something heavy moved through here."
Rasha leaned beside him, watching carefully.
"You'll learn faster if you follow how the ground's broken," he said.
"Not just footprints. Where the plants bend. Where the rocks shift."
A low-hanging branch swayed gently in the morning wind, its motion too subtle to notice — unless you were watching.
He paced forward a few steps, tapping a half-buried stone with his heel.
"Fast prey scatters the dirt," he said.
"Slow predators? They press it down."
She watched the way he moved — sure-footed, deliberate.
Every disturbance a word written in the land.
Every pebble, a mark in a language she hadn't learned to read — not yet.
"And if we find it cornered," he added, glancing at her,
"don't fight it aggressively. Don't try to overpower it. Dodge. Confuse. Survive."
The air around them was still, listening.
He hesitated, thinking — then spoke more carefully.
"You've got fire if you need it — not to hurt, but to trick.
Could flash a little heat behind it. Make the air shimmer. Might throw it off balance."
He paused again, rubbing at his jaw thoughtfully.
"Or throw a handful of dust to its face.
Kick a branch into its path.
Even heat a stone near its paw."
The wind shifted slightly, tugging at his shirt and scattering ash from last night's fire.
Rasha smiled slightly, seeing how the ideas sparked out of him, growing more inventive as he thought aloud.
There was something joyful in his logic — not planning for violence, but for survival. For cleverness. For life.
And as she watched, she felt something stir inside him — like a slow ember catching wind.
Not magic yet.
But the beginning of something alive.
"Alright," he said, flashing her a grin.
"Time to hunt."
They moved into the thickening brush, careful and quiet.
The sun climbed higher, filtering through the canopy in narrow beams.Dust motes danced like soft embers in the slanted light.
Thorned vines tugged at their boots.
Dry leaves crunched softly beneath each step.
The air was still — not silent, but expectant.
Somewhere ahead, cicadas ticked faintly.
The wind, when it came, came in shallow breaths — as if the land was holding something in.
The earth felt different here.
Not dead. Not hostile.
Alive. Watching.
And somewhere ahead, something moved.
The brush grew denser, the ground rougher.
Roots rose like the ribs of buried beasts.
Talo crouched again, studying deeper gouges — broader, heavier than before.
Scrapes along roots.
Deep claw marks tearing dry patches of earth.
Broken twigs hung from stripped bramble, their ends still green with snapped life.
Talo frowned, tension building across his shoulders.
His hand hovered near his belt.
"That's no scraper lizard," he muttered.
Rasha knelt beside him, noting the wide, sunken prints pressed into dry soil.
A sharp, musky tang clung faintly to the air — a scent of heat and iron and fur.
"What is it?" she whispered.
He shook his head.
"No idea. Never seen tracks like these."
The trail dipped into a hollow thick with brambles and broken stone.It was quiet — too quiet.
Even the cicadas had stopped.
Movement.
Talo threw out a hand, halting her.
Ahead, something shifted — low and heavy.
The creature wasn't tall — maybe waist-high — but it moved with weight, with purpose.
Its body was built like a boulder with legs, muscles rippling beneath dusty fur streaked darker along the shoulders and flanks.
Its paws sank deep into the earth with every step.Its snout flared wide, nostrils twitching.Eyes gleamed beneath its brow — not dumb, not wild.
Aware.
A Predator.
Talo whispered low, "That thing hunts."
It snuffled the air, muscles tensing.
"If it charges," he murmured, "don't brace for impact. Dodge!
If you can, distract it — heat shimmer, branch snap — anything that will throw its aim."
Rasha nodded, heart thudding slow but heavy.
The creature dropped lower — and lunged.
It wasn't a straight charge.
It juked left first — fast, calculating — then barreled forward, kicking up dirt and broken stalks.
"Left!" Talo barked.
They split apart cleanly.
The creature wavered, momentarily confused — then locked on and hurtled toward Talo.
Talo dodged wide. The beast's jaws snapped inches from his hip.He slashed low with his knife — sparks of friction flying — but the blade scraped harmlessly off thick, matted hide.
"Hide's too tough!" he snapped.
Rasha gritted her teeth and dropped low.Her hand found a sun-warmed stone half-buried in the dust.
She didn't summon fire — she shifted it.
Concentrated it.
A shimmer bloomed — a ripple of distorted air just beside the beast's flank, like heat rising from a forge.
The predator flinched — an instinctive twitch of the eyes toward the illusion — and in that flicker of hesitation, Talo moved.
Fast. Precise. Knife reversed, breath held.
The blade slid up under the chin — past fur, past muscle.Soft flesh gave way.
The creature reeled back, coughing blood — then collapsed heavily into the dust.
Its spirit pulsed outward — brief, hot, furious — then faded like a dying ember caught in wind.
Rasha stood still.
Because Talo had struck the final blow, it wasn't her place to guide the soul.
She simply pressed her awareness inward, where its presence brushed the edges of memory —not claimed,
Marked.
Another ember to carry forward.