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At that moment, I comprehended that my intrigue grew deeper roots than mere curiosity. I garnered respect for a kindred spirit who shared my reverence for these untamed lands. Each day brought new respect for this human who treaded lightly yet confidently through a world that many feared.
As darkness enveloped us both, I retreated once more into my hidden sanctum among the trees. The distance between us spanned mere breaths of air, yet felt like leagues. For all my strength and stealth, there remained an expanse I dared not cross... yet each day tempted me closer still.
3
Claudia
Dawn’s early light crept through the canopy, painting my tent in a warm, golden hue. I stretched, laced up my boots, and zipped open the tent flap to greet the new day. A chill nipped at my cheeks as I stepped out, and the air carried a heavy mist that clung to my skin.
As I boiled water for coffee, something odd caught my eye—a series of deep impressions on the soft earth near the fire pit. Not human, not any animal I recognized. The tracks led away from my campsite, towards the dense forest that hugged the mountainside. My heart thumped with excitement to see the hopeful amarok prints.
I grabbed my camera and notebook, sketched the tracks quickly, and measured their depth and width. Larger than any wolf’s, with distinct claw marks suggesting a creature of considerable size and strength.
“Not your average fauna,” I muttered to myself.
The forest beckoned with its usual cacophony of bird calls and rustling leaves. Yet today, it held a distinct energy like holding its breath, watching me trace the path of an alien being. The trail led through thickets and over fallen logs—signs of the amarok’s passage everywhere if one knew how to look.
A snapped branch here; a tuft of coarse fur snagged on bark there. I made sure to meticulously document each clue in my notebook.
“Intelligent,” I noted aloud. “Purposeful strides... they avoid leaving too much evidence.”
The trail went cold by a stream that cut through the land like a ribbon of glass. I refilled my water bottle and scanned the opposite bank for any sign that Zunnik crossed. That’s when I spotted it: a cave opening peeking out from under a ridgeline across the water.
With practiced ease, I crossed over slippery stones and made my way towards the cave. As I approached, a scent hung in the air—musky and foreign—like nothing I ever encountered.
“This is it,” I whispered to myself.
I switched on my flashlight and peered into one of the smaller openings along the ridgeline. The beam cut through the darkness, revealing little more than damp rock walls and the occasional drip of water from stalactites above.
I moved to the next opening, larger this time, capable of hiding something—or someone—of considerable size. Heart pounding against my ribs, I stepped inside.
“Hello?” My voice sounded small against the silence that swallowed it whole.
The cave stretched deeper than my light could reach. Shadows clung to every crevice like dark whispers urging me forward. Each step felt like an intrusion into sacred space. Then came a sound—a soft shuffle from within the belly of the cave—and I froze.
I held my breath, listening intently as another shuffle echoed off the walls, followed by an unmistakable low growl that vibrated through my boots.
Every instinct screamed at me to run, but fascination rooted me in place for a heartbeat longer before fear won out. Without turning back, I bolted from the cave mouth into the precious daylight. My chest heaved as adrenaline coursed through me, and though part of me wanted to look back—to confirm what or who made that sound—I knew better than to tempt fate twice in one day.
Back under the open sky, my mind raced with questions as fast as my heart still thudded against my chest—a wild drumbeat marking an encounter with the unknown that would shape everything to come.
The forest felt different as I trekked back toward camp, the hair on the back of my neck prickling with the sensation of unseen eyes tracking my every move. The air seemed thicker, charged with a silent tension that kept my senses on high alert. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves whispered of pursuit.
I quickened my pace, thumbing the canister of bear spray hitched to my belt. But I lied to myself. If the stories about amaroks proved true, pepper spray would be about as effective as throwing confetti at a charging bull.
Dusk approached with an amber glow filtering through the trees, casting long shadows that twisted and played tricks on my eyes. Movement or just the dance of branches or something more startled me?
“I know you’re out there,” I called into the thickening shadows, my voice steady despite the drumming in my chest. “I’m not here to harm you.”
Silence answered me. A heavy cloak that smothered the usual evening chorus of the forest. I kept moving, but slower now, mindful of each step, each breath. A rustling to my left sent me spinning, hand gripping the bear spray.
A flash of fur between the trees—a glimpse too brief to identify, but enough to confirm the existence of my visitor.
“Not Bigfoot,” I muttered under my breath. “Too stealthy for that.”
My heart hammered against my ribs as I continued back toward camp, fighting the urge to glance over my shoulder with every other step. With nightfall encroaching, visibility waned; even the comforting outline of my tent seemed like a mirage in the dimming light.
I reached camp and quickly packed up. I could no longer stay put; I needed to keep moving, if only to convince myself that I remained in control.
