Kale arrived at the meeting spot just before sunrise, his breath rising in soft clouds through the cold air. Snow had fallen heavily during the night, blanketing the forest in thick silence. He leaned against a tree, spear resting beside him, dagger tucked into his belt. A small flame hovered above one hand, casting flickering light across his tired face.
He hadn't slept much.
His mind kept circling back to the hunt—and to Bren. If he was walking into something dangerous, he wanted to be ready. And if Bren turned out to be part of it? Well, fire didn't care who you were. It burned everyone the same.
Ten minutes later, footsteps crunched through the snow. Kale straightened, watching as Bren emerged from the trees, an axe slung over his shoulder and a bundle tied to his belt.
"Morning," Bren greeted, stepping forward. His voice was warm, casual—like they were old friends meeting for a favor. "Didn't think you'd actually show."
Kale gave a shrug. "I don't get many chances to eat without bleeding for it." He glanced at the herbs on Bren's belt. "Is that Glacier Root?"
Bren smirked, holding it up. "Sharp eyes. Yeah. You know your stuff."
"I've seen animals go nuts for it," Kale said, crossing his arms. "How did you keep it fresh in winter?"
Bren chuckled, tapping the side of his nose. "Secret stash. I stored some when I could. Doesn't rot if you seal it right. Just enough to lure in our prize."
Kale studied him carefully. "You're not worried about sharing this with me?"
"No reason to hide anything yet," Bren replied, adjusting his coat. "We're hunting together today. Partners need trust—or at least a common goal."
Kale wasn't sure what unsettled him more—the word partner, or how easily Bren used it.
They fell into step together, moving northward through thickening woods. The deeper they went, the more the world changed. Trees stood taller here, their trunks twisted and ancient. Snow lay untouched for days, maybe weeks. Even the wind seemed quieter, muffled like it was afraid to move too fast.
"You ever been this far north?" Kale asked after a while.
"Once or twice," Bren said. "Never alone. There are things out here… and not all of them are boars."
Kale frowned. "Like what?"
Bren didn't answer right away. Then he muttered, almost to himself, "Not the kind of thing you explain. The kind you avoid."
Kale opened his mouth to ask more—but then Bren stopped suddenly, raising a gloved hand.
"Hold up."
Kale froze. "What is it?"
Bren tilted his head slightly, listening. His posture changed—not relaxed anymore, but alert. Suspicious. Then he spoke in a low voice. "We're not alone."
Kale followed his gaze, scanning the trees ahead. At first, he saw nothing. Just snow-covered roots, tangled branches, and distant ridges hidden under fog. But then he felt it too—a pressure in the air, like someone was watching from behind the trees.
He whispered, "You think it's the boar?"
Bren shook his head slowly. "No. That's different. This…" He trailed off, gripping his axe tighter. "This doesn't move like prey."
The silence stretched between them. No birds. No rustling. Just the soft crunch of snow beneath their boots and the weight of unseen eyes pressing down on them.
Kale let his flame grow slightly, curling around his fingers like a warning. "If it isn't the boar, then what is it?"
Bren didn't answer immediately. He only started walking again, slower now. More careful.
"We'll find out soon enough," he murmured. "Let's just make sure we're ready when it finds us."
•---•
As they moved deeper into the northern woods, the air grew heavier. Not just colder—denser. Like something unseen was drawing closer.
They walked in near silence, each step measured. Kale kept his flame close, letting its warmth stay near his palm. Bren's grip on his axe never loosened.
Then, just past a thicket of frozen pines, Kale noticed something strange.
A set of tracks in the snow.
Fresh.
But not from a boar.
He tapped Bren's arm lightly and pointed. "We're not the only ones tracking something."
Bren crouched low, studying the prints. His brow furrowed. "Human?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"Nah," Kale said quietly. "Too deep. Too wide apart. Whatever made these moves fast. Quiet too."
Bren exhaled sharply through his nose. "Great."
They kept going, but both men were tense now. Kale's eyes darted constantly between trees. Bren scanned the ground every few steps, reading signs only he understood.
And all the while, something lingered nearby.
Not close enough to see.
Not loud enough to confirm.
But always there.
Moving when they moved.
Pausing when they paused.
Something had been following them since they left the clearing. Watching. Waiting.
Kale didn't speak of it. Neither did Bren.
They didn't need to.
They both knew.
And they both hoped it stayed that way—for now.