Juna crouched beside the broken spruce branch and traced the stalker's path uphill before calling her trackers forward.
Far below the rocky bluffs, the bustling town was a mosaic of terracotta roofs and winding cobblestone streets.
Juna crouched beside a broken spruce trunk, examining three fresh claw gouges carved deep into the soft earth.
Behind her, four local guild trackers adjusted their short bows, keeping their steps silent upon the forest floor.
"These tracks belong to a ridge stalker," the lead hunter whispered, pointing toward a trail of dragged fleece.
"It has taken six sheep from the southern pasture over the last three days."
"Do they usually venture this close to the outer farms?" she asked, rising to her feet with practiced grace.
"Never before the mountain war," the hunter replied quietly, checking the tension on his bowstring.
"The recent artillery barrages must have driven them down from the high peaks."
