The forest was no longer whole. Broken trunks jutted out like bones from the earth, the remnants of once-proud trees now reduced to splinters and shattered bark. The path Steve and Fiona followed was marked by devastation—deep gouges in the soil, heavy footprints, and signs of large bodies trampling through. Goblin tracks.
Steve moved ahead with tense shoulders and clenched fists, his eyes darting restlessly from tree to tree, bush to bush. His grip on his blade was white-knuckled, as though the very air around them might burst into violence. Fiona followed close behind, each of her steps measured, careful not to snap twigs or rustle the foliage too loudly. Both knew: the goblin clan could be anywhere.
