The Silverclaw scout burst from the mist like a nightmare given form, an arrow already drawn back on his bow. His patchy silver fur caught the first light of dawn, and his narrowed eyes locked straight on Saul. The bowstring creaked with tension, his arms steady despite the limp left by Lira's earlier throw.
"Stranger's scent draws blood," the scout snarled like an angry animal, loosing the arrow.
Saul twisted instinctively. The shot whistled past his ear close enough to shear a strand of hair before it buried itself in a tree with a solid thud. The vine lash pulsed in Saul's veins, urging him forward. He didn't think, he moved. Saul lunged low, dagger flashing as he closed the distance before the scout could notch another arrow.
The Silverclaw twisted with catlike speed, claws slicing the air where Saul's face had been a heartbeat earlier. Saul drove his shoulder into the scout's midsection, the impact knocking both of them to the ground. They rolled once before coming to rest in the mulch, the scout's bow snapping under their combined weight. Saul pinned one arm and planted his knee on the cat's chest, dagger pressing against the exposed throat.
"Bad morning for you, buddy," Saul grunted, his breath was rough and fast.
Up close, the scout looked younger than Saul, maybe even a little less. The fur around his face was matted from travel, and a thin leather cord hung around his neck, holding a small trinket, a polished, iridescent scale. It didn't belong on a cat. Snake work, maybe. The thought lodged itself in Saul's head. His aura sense picked up the scout's fear, but there was something colder beneath it a obedience, confusion, calculation. He wasn't just angry. He was following orders.
Lira appeared beside them, her spear tip hovering inches from the scout's eye. "Talk now or die with lots pain," she ordered. "Why are you crossing the border? Silverclaws know the rules, but why?"
The scout spat dirt and glared between them, his snarl holding its edge. "Your new stray reeks of off-land," he growled. "Alpha wants a sniff. Or a pelt." He jerked once in defiance, but Saul pressed the blade harder until a thin red line of blood welled on his neck. That quieted him fast.
"Bind him," Lira said evenly. "Patrol's on its way. Sable can do the squeezing."
Saul summoned the vine lash, green tendrils slithering from the soil to wrap the scout's wrists and ankles tight. The cat beastman cursed under his breath, but his gaze flicked again to the trinket at his chest. His thumb brushed the scale like a charm of protection. Saul noticed. Something about that piece didn't sit right.
It hinted at something larger, an unseen influence coiled just out of sight.
By the time Rorik and two wolves arrived, axes raised and fur bristling, the Silverclaw scout was already trussed and silent. "Another silver bast@rd?" Rorik barked, kicking the captive's leg lightly. "These furballs breed like fleas. Good work, storm-boy. From the looks of it, you fight like you mean it."
"Learned from the best," Saul said, wiping his dagger clean on his thigh. The earlier cut on his arm throbbed, but the shared Herb Sense from Lira worked quietly, knitting the skin back together with a soothing warmth.
Lira gave a short nod to the patrol. "Ridge is secure. Cage him with the others. Tell Sable they're probing, not pushing."
The wolves hauled the prisoner away. His curses faded into the mist. Rorik clapped Saul's back hard enough to rattle his ribs. "Dawn hunt's next," Rorik said with a grin. "Boar sign up north. Time for payback. Those tusked freaks still owe me a leg."
Saul looked to Lira. She nodded once. "Let's burn this off," Saul said.
The three moved north as the fog thinned and the jungle came alive with calls and rustling leaves. Lira led the way, spear ready. Rorik took the flank, muttering about his "legendary tusk-count" from last moon. "Bagged three in one charge," he bragged. "Tusks this big." He spread his arms wide and nearly smacked a low branch before stumbling straight into a mud pit.
Saul steadied himself on a root, laughing. "Legendary nap, more like it. That mud won."
Rorik sputtered as he pulled himself out, his fur caked like crude war paint. "Mud's the enemy now," he said, shaking himself off. "Sneaky stuff. Worse than boars."
Even Lira cracked a grin at that. The easy humor broke the tension still hanging from the earlier fight.
Deeper into the jungle, Lira froze and raised her hand. "Deer trail. Fresh," she whispered. She pointed at the soft impressions in the dirt, deep and spaced wide as an adult buck, heavy and restless.
Saul crouched beside her. The system flickered in his mind.
[Scan: Hoof Prints – Deer path, +8 Points]
Saul thinks in his mind that, "What's the use of this for scanning?"
Brown wisps of earthy aura rose and settled into his senses. The world sharpened, each scent layering clear from the musk of deer ahead, faint rot from old scat, crushed sap from trampled ferns. The Trail Echo settled into his mind, guiding him like an invisible compass.
"Flank left," Lira murmured, her eyes locked on the trail. "You close in first, then I will finish it as quickly as possible."
Saul nodded and slipped into the underbrush, dagger loose in his hand. The vines tugged at his legs, but the Trail Echo pulled him forward, tracing the deer's path through the mist. His pulse thudded steady. Rage simmered underneath an echo of the memories that never left him. The betrayal. His father's office. His stepbrothers' laughter. The empire built on lies and blood.
He pushed harder. Turning those miserable pains into focus.
The deer crashed out of the brush ahead, antlers wide, muscles rippling. Saul lunged in pursuit, the agility stat humming just below a breakthrough. His legs carried him faster than the day before, narrowing the gap with each stride. He swung for the flank, but the buck twisted. An antler clipped Saul's shoulder, hot pain tearing across his skin. The miss threw his balance, and he skidded through the damp earth.
Lira struck from the right. Her spear swept clean across the deer's throat, blood arcing bright in the early light. The animal buckled, collapsing in a steaming heap. She stepped forward and ended it with a swift stab to the heart.
"Good flank," Lira said by wiping her blade on the grass. "Close it on next time without fail."
Saul pushed himself up, his shoulder burning but steady. He knelt beside the carcass, slicing the heart free with practiced precision. The organ steamed in his palm, hot and solid. "Empires fall," Saul murmured, voice rough. "But this feels real."
Lira crouched beside him, her tail brushing lightly against his side. "Real's what we hunt for," she said softly. The bond between them thrummed quiet and strong.
Rorik tromped up, axe ready. "Heart shot, nice. But next boar's mine." He swung wide at the haunch and promptly nicked his own boot. "Damn vines," he muttered.
Saul laughed, shaking his head. "Legendary tusk-count, zero vine wins. Try harder next time, Rorik."
Rorik grinned, and the three shared a laugh that cut through the wild tension still hanging in the air.
They carried the deer back toward the village as the sun climbed higher. The straps bit into their shoulders, but the scent of smoke ahead quickened their pace. When they crested the ridge, Saul's stomach dropped. A hut burned at the edge of the village, flames eating through the thatch while villagers beat at it with cloaks. Children cried. Smoke thickened the air.
An arrow jutted from the doorframe, silver-fletched and unmistakable.
Lira dropped her end of the deer, her eyes going hard on seeing her village buring on flames. "Silverclaws," she hissed. "They hit while we were gone, this why they lured us into the woods"
Rorik's growl rumbled low as he raised his axe. "They're testing us, and testing you, storm-boy."
Saul's grip tightened on his dagger as his aura sense flared hot with anger that wasn't only his. The whole pack seethed with it. The Silverclaws weren't probing anymore. This wasn't a warning.
It was a bite and a direct hit at them.