Kai pushed open the creaky door of the hut. The damp wood made a loud noise as he stepped out into the cold night. His breath showed in the air, white and fading fast, as he saw a flickering light far away. It looked weak and shaky, like a tiny flame about to go out. There was a boot print in the mud. It was fresh—too fresh.
A chill ran down his spine as he crouched by the doorway and touched the wet ground. The soil had clearly been disturbed. The print was sharp, not yet smoothed by wind or rain. Then he saw blood—dark and shiny in the pale moonlight. It was smeared in a messy trail, leading away from the hut. The trail twisted through roots and into the forest, where the trees stood like twisted statues, their bare branches reaching up like claws.
