“Life goes on,” River said with a shaky smile. “Let’s hunt.”
As they neared the familiar edge of the hunting grounds, distant voices began to carry through the trees—laughter, shouts, someone calling out in triumph. The sounds echoed off trunks and moss, bright and careless, like nothing in the world had gone wrong.
Collin paused for a moment, listening.
“We’ll find them faster if we split up,” Aries said.
River gave a quick nod, then whistled sharply. His dogs tore ahead, barking like their lives depended on it, vanishing into the underbrush. River followed close behind, his long strides sure despite everything that weighed on him. It struck Collin—how easily he slipped back into motion, as if survival were just instinct by now.
Then Aries let out a whoop, unsheathed a knife, and took off after them with a battle cry that was more joy than fury.
The trees rose like dark towers around him, their branches laced high overhead, blotting the sun into shifting patches of light. Collin glanced behind him—no sign of anyone. The hush pressed in close.
No birdsong. No rustling brush. Just the soft crunch of his own footsteps and the low murmur of the creek beside him. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was too complete, like the forest had paused its breath.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was still carrying River’s story in his bones. He shook his head, tried to chase it off with thoughts of boar meat sizzling over coals. A feast, laughter. The normal kind of hunger.
He followed the creek’s bend, eyes scanning the undergrowth. Then—movement.
A thud in the brush, followed by a violent rustle. His muscles tensed just as a large boar burst through a tangle of branches—snorting, bristling, eyes locked on him. The thing looked furious, its curved tusks glinting like knives. Foam clung to its mouth, and it scraped a hoof against the earth, readying to charge.
Collin stepped back instinctively, heart jerking upward in his chest.
So much for calm.
Did boars even see well? Its eyes were tiny—shiny black buttons set deep in that hulking body, too small for a creature that massive. Collin barely had time to take in the rest: itssnorting breaths, the twitch of its bristled back, the way it pawed the leaves with a hoof that, for a fleeting second, seemed almost comical in contrast to its rage.
Then it charged.
Collin stumbled back, breath catching. He had no weapon. No time to run. It would outrun him anyway. The only chance—
He scrambled up the nearest tree, bark scraping his palms. Just as he hauled himself onto the lowest branch, something moved above him.
A blur. A shape. A heavy exhale from the leaves overhead—and then a massive shadow dropped past him, fast as a falling stone.
The sound that followed cracked the silence wide open, a shriek so high and raw it didn’t sound like any living thing.
The shadow hit the forest floor with bone-jarring weight. Collin clung to the branch, heart thundering, eyes wide.
A panther.
Sleek, immense, all muscle and grace. Her paws pinned the boar in a heartbeat. Her back arched and rolled with power as her teeth sank into the thick hide. The growl she loosed shook deep in Collin’s ribs—it sounded like the forest itself growling through her.
He couldn’t look away.
There was blood, thrashing limbs, the helpless squeal of the boar brought low. And still, Collin was rooted to the branch—part fear, part awe.
She was a storm draped in muscle. A queen taking what was hers.
The boar stilled.
She turned.
As if she’d felt his gaze. As if she’d known he was there all along.
The panther’s great black head swiveled slowly, eyes catching the light like molten gold. Her gaze locked onto him—silent, unblinking. It wasn’t curiosity. It was calculation. And Collin’s mind emptied, wiped clean by the sheer power of her stare.
Her tail flicked once. Then again. A slow, rhythmic swish that built toward something terrible. The muscles across her back and haunches gathered, coiling tight.
