---
Ahead, the decoy pit waited. It was a bait of smoked wolf meat strung from a bent iron rod just above the false lid. Flies circled it, lazy and low. The meat sagged slightly but was still untouched.
Still intact. No curious nose had poked it. He relaxed. Just slightly. Zephyr veered around the trap, brushed a gnat from his cheek, and walked a little farther, until the pull in his bladder demanded release.
Behind a jagged thorn-slab rock, he answered nature's call, then by old habit—scooped a handful of cold ash from a nearby pile and dusted the soil. Even scent could be a map to beasts with noses sharper than steel.
The air chilled again, as though the trees themselves held their breath. A mist ribbon crept along the grass. It was low, thin, and silvery. It curled around his ankles like a curious ghost.
He rubbed his arms once, shrugged against the rising breeze, and glanced skyward. Star was still in pattern. His shadow passed overhead once more.
