The fire was low but steady, its warmth a precious comfort against the cold breath of the Veilwild. The survivors sat in a loose ring, huddled close to one another but each wrapped in their own silence. The strange purple berries had left many of them weak and nauseated, and even those who hadn't tasted them seemed shaken. No one slept easily.
Caleb sat with the journal open on his knees, skimming lines again and again under the flickering firelight. Petra had wrapped herself in a salvaged thermal blanket, pale but recovering, while Dev sharpened sticks into short spears nearby.
They needed food.
Real food.
The rot-beast they had fought days ago had been too corrupted, its flesh crawling with black veins and oily gristle. They'd burned the body without trying it. But the journal mentioned smaller creatures—cleaner ones. The kind that lurked around decayed places, picking through remains.
"Carrion grazers," Alya said, squinting at a scribbled entry. "Scavengers, rabbit-sized or bigger. They come to rot, avoid fire, and bite if cornered. But their meat's clean if cooked."
"Bite back," Dev muttered. "Got it."
"We'll need a trap," Caleb said.
Petra, still sitting with her knees tucked to her chest, glanced up. "We have nothing to bait them with."
"We have bile," Biran said darkly, then gestured toward the bushes. "And some very unfortunate berries."
Carla snorted softly. "I've heard worse ideas."
"There's also this," Hana added, holding up a strip of dried, spoiled meat—part of a kill they had deemed inedible two nights before. It had turned gray and sour-smelling in her pack, but hadn't yet molded.
"Perfect," Caleb said. "The journal suggests we mix it with human scent—sweat, blood if necessary. Tie it to a stake and wait."
"Wait and be the bait," Biran muttered.
"We'll do it in shifts," Dev said. "Two volunteers. Weapons ready. The rest stay upwind, close but hidden."
No one spoke for a moment.
"I'll go," Petra said. "Still can't sleep anyway."
"I'll go with her," said Carla, glancing sideways. "If she pukes again, I'm not letting her fall over alone."
Petra gave her a half-hearted smirk. "Romantic."
"Shut up."
They prepped quickly. By the time the moons had shifted above the trees, Petra and Carla were crouched at the edge of the thinned woods, the bait fixed to a branch with a crude snare wrapped in vine cord. Caleb watched from behind a moss-draped log with Dev and Alya flanking him. The rest of the group waited further back, camp quiet but alert.
The hours passed slowly. Night in the Veilwild felt endless.
And then—movement.
A crunch.
Something small, quick, low to the ground.
A creature emerged from the shadows—long-snouted, furred, and pale. It looked like a cross between a ferret and a vulture, with oversized hind legs and thin, grasping claws. Its eyes glowed faintly yellow as it sniffed the bait.
"Carrion grazer," Alya whispered. "Just like the book."
Petra raised her spear slightly, but Caleb shook his head. "Wait."
Two more appeared, sniffing and twitching as they approached. One stepped into the snare.
The trap snapped shut, tightening around its leg. The creature shrieked, thrashing violently, and the other two bolted. Carla lunged forward and drove her spear into its chest with a grunt.
Blood spilled—greenish, but not oily.
The grazer twitched once more, then went still.
"We got one!" Carla hissed over her shoulder.
The group moved in quickly, hauling the kill back to camp.
Hana and Rahul worked fast to clean the meat, cutting away anything suspect. The fire was stoked, and thin slices were soon sizzling over it on flat rocks. The scent was musky but not foul—earthy, like old mushrooms and smoke.
When it was done, they ate in careful silence. No one gorged. Everyone waited after the first bites, watching one another for signs of sickness.
But none came.
"It's good," Dev muttered, chewing. "Gamey, but good."
"It's food," Petra said. "That's what matters."
Even Ivy ate, curled against Hana's side, a small bite held delicately between her fingers.
As the tension lifted, the group began to murmur softly to one another—sharing small laughs, comparing the taste to things they missed. Caleb heard someone say "beef jerky," another whisper "rabbit." The warmth was momentary, but real.
Until the wind shifted.
The mist thickened. A hush fell over the group.
Carla stood slowly. "No one think about it."
But Ivy had already gone still.
"I feel it," she whispered.
Petra closed the journal quickly and tucked it into her coat.
"Split up," Caleb said quietly. "Not far. Just not clustered. Spread thoughts. Don't speak."
They did as told.
Moments passed.
Nothing came.
And then—just faintly—the sound of cracking twigs.
But it wasn't stalking.
It wasn't hunting.
It was… moving on.
The group didn't breathe until the wind eased again.
Later, as they settled, Caleb sat beside Petra near the fire. She was quiet, still pale from the berries and the earlier kill.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Better than this morning," she said. "Barely puked at all."
He smiled faintly. "Good."
She looked toward Ivy and Hana, now asleep side by side. "That kid's holding it together better than I thought."
"She's stronger than most."
Petra didn't answer right away. Then she said, "You think this guide made it out? The one who wrote the journal?"
"I don't know."
"But you hope so."
He nodded.
A beat passed. Then Petra asked, "And if they didn't?"
"Then we follow their footprints," he said. "Until we can go no further. Then we make our own."
Far from camp, deeper in the dead woods, a shape stirred.
It was not the faceless flame.
But it had heard it, too.
And it was hunting the hunter.