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My boots crunched against earth, still damp from morning dew, as I unhooked myself from the line. The chopper lifted away, its roar fading until only silence remained — a heavy blanket punctuated by distant bird calls and the rustle of leaves.
Alone now, I surveyed my surroundings. Which direction should I head? To my left lay dense underbrush that promised painstaking progress; to my right stood tall pines that offered easier passage but less cover.
Deciding on balance between speed and stealth, I veered right toward the pines. With each step forward, layers of civilization fell away until there I stood alone with an endless canvas of nature painted in hues of green and brown.
The weight on my back from my pack grounded me while every sense sharpened; I moved with purposeful strides, alert for any sign of movement or life beyond avian or insect.
Inhaling deeply, I caught faint undertones beneath the earthy fragrance — something musky and wild that teased at memories not yet formed. A shiver traced its way down my spine as realization dawned; perhaps I wanted not only to find them but also to prove I could belong in their world even for a fleeting moment.
With each breath came resolve woven through with strands of fear — giving me the ride of my life. Ahead lay discovery; behind lay everything familiar and safe. And within me churned an ocean of questions yearning for shore.
The forest swallowed me whole, its whispers guiding my steps deeper into its heart. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in shards, painting the ground with patches of warmth that I wove between. My breath formed steady puffs in the cool air, and the crunch of leaves beneath my boots and the distant call of a hawk reached my ears. My senses sharpened, straining for a glimpse or a sound that didn’t belong to the forest.
I hiked for hours, each step taking me further from civilization and closer to them — the amaroks. With every mile, my pack seemed to grow heavier, a constant reminder of the line between preparedness and burden. But this weight remained a necessary companion; it carried my survival.
As daylight waned, I found a small clearing ringed by dense undergrowth and towering firs. The perfect spot to set up camp — visible sight lines in all directions, yet with enough cover to remain inconspicuous. I dropped my pack with a thud, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension.
I worked quickly, knowing twilight would not hold off for long. My tent sprang to life with a few deft movements — a temporary shield against the elements and any unwelcome visitors. Gathering fallen branches for a fire took longer than expected; the forest seemed reluctant to yield its resources.
With flames crackling before me, I boiled water for a freeze-dried meal — tonight’s menu: chicken risotto, courtesy of a pouch. I ate with one hand, the other holding open my notebook as I jotted down observations from the day’s trek.
Darkness crept in like an uninvited guest, thickening until the fire became my sole beacon in a sea of night. The forest transformed with it; familiar shapes turned foreign, and every rustle became amplified in the stillness.
Sleep proved elusive as I nestled into my sleeping bag. The fire reduced to embers, its glow too feeble to fend off the blackness beyond. And then it began — soft at first, like whispers carried on the breeze. Movement. Not just one creature, but several, circling my camp at a cautious distance.
I lay still as stone while straining to discern shapes in the dark. Amaroks? My heart thrummed against my ribs like a frantic drumbeat as I considered emerging from my tent for a better look. But training and instinct held me back and I knew better than to reveal myself just yet.
Minutes stretched into hours as I tracked their movements by sound alone — padded steps on damp earth, a hushed snarl from somewhere out there in the inkiness. Certainly, they communicated with each other.
The presence of these creatures filled me with an electric mix of fear and fascination. Curiosity or scrutiny led them to me. My mind raced with questions: How many lived here? Did they know humans?
My hand hovered over my camera — but no, not yet. Patience provided the key; any sudden movement could scare them off or, worse, provoke them.
Eventually, their presence faded as gradually as they appeared until once again silence filled the atmosphere save for the dying fire’s last breaths.
Morning found me bleary-eyed but unharmed. Nocturnal visitors left their marks on softened ground — not quite animal but also not human prints covered the ground.
I packed up camp with meticulous care before setting out again into the forest’s embrace. Today would be another day of discovery, another chance to bridge two unacquainted worlds.
And so I walked on, driven by an insatiable thirst for knowledge and an unspoken hope that tonight might bring answers instead of just more questions under starlit skies.
2
Zunnik
A crisp wind snaked through the dense forest, carrying with it the scent of pine and a trace of something unfamiliar. My nostrils flared, sorting through the layers of damp earth and decaying leaves to isolate the intruder. Human. I remained concealed in the shadows, a silent sentinel perched high in the branches of an ancient cedar.
The sky, a canvas of deep indigo, gave way to night as I watched her. The human female trekked into my domain with purpose, her movements betraying an awkwardness unbecoming of the wild. She erected a shelter, a flimsy thing of fabric and poles, and settled within.
Curiosity nipped at me like a persistent pup. Humans seldom ventured this deep into the forest, and those who carried with them the stench of fear and weaponry. This one fared differently. Her scent wove through the air—a blend of determination and something softer, a note that tugged at my senses.
With the moon ascending to its throne among the stars, I descended from my perch. Muscles coiled and uncoiled with each silent step as I neared her campsite. A soft glow emanated from within her tent; she produced a lit device to pierce the darkness. The light thru shadows against the fabric walls, creating a puppet show of her movements.
I circled the campsite, maintaining a respectful distance while my eyes traced her silhouette. She moved with purpose, pen scratching against paper as she documented her findings. Legends—I could smell the old ink and paper from where I stood.
The temptation to draw nearer pulled at me like the gravity of moons on tides. An enigma wrapped in human skin, this female human sought creatures like me with eyes wide open rather than shut tight in terror.
Silent as the night itself, I approached her tent until only a few paces separated us. Her scent enticed me, mingling with the cool air—not repulsive as human odors often emanated, but strangely interesting.
