[HUNGER LEVEL: 43%]
The lookout took another cautious step, his hand tight on his sword hilt. His eyes, narrowed and sharp, swept the holly bushes. He was good. He moved with the softness of a hunter, not the heavy clomp of his companions by the fire. This was the dangerous one. The one Eric needed to remove first, and quietly.
Eric didn't breathe. He was a stone behind the leaves. He could feel the man's gaze passing over him. The hunger was a live wire under his skin, screaming to be used, to leap, but he clamped down on it. He was not a beast. Not yet.
The lookout paused, three strides away. He was listening. Eric let him listen. He heard the distant clang of the sparring swords, a rough laugh from the camp, the crackle of the fire. Normal sounds.
The man relaxed, just a fraction. He shook his head, muttered something under his breath about "nerves and squirrels," and turned slightly, starting to pivot back to his log.
It was the moment.
Eric moved.
