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Ahead, the decoy pit waited. It was a bait of smoked wolf meat strung from a bent iron rod just above the false lid. Flies circled it, lazy and low. The meat sagged slightly but was still untouched.
Still intact. No curious nose had poked it. He relaxed. Just slightly. Zephyr veered around the trap, brushed a gnat from his cheek, and walked a little farther, until the pull in his bladder demanded release.
Behind a jagged thorn-slab rock, he answered nature’s call, then by old habit—scooped a handful of cold ash from a nearby pile and dusted the soil. Even scent could be a map to beasts with noses sharper than steel.
The air chilled again, as though the trees themselves held their breath. A mist ribbon crept along the grass. It was low, thin, and silvery. It curled around his ankles like a curious ghost.
He rubbed his arms once, shrugged against the rising breeze, and glanced skyward. Star was still in pattern. His shadow passed overhead once more.
Zephyr exhaled, long and quiet. The tension was coiled in his shoulders like a drawn bow.
Satisfied for now... he began the walk back, retracing his steps with silent confidence. The traps were ready. The drake was on watch. Fenna slept lightly; she always did. And the fire still cracked softly in their lean-to, casting narrow orange stripes over the earth.
At the camp’s edge, he tapped the whistle tucked beneath his shirt. A high trill broke the silence—sharp but brief.
Moments later, Star descended from the sky, talons stirring leaves as he landed. He huffed, the sound more breath than growl, then curled near the fire, heat naturally radiating from his scaled chest.
Zephyr nodded, slumped beneath the lean-to, and shrugged into his blanket. One hand rested by his thigh, where his hatchet lay ready. The other slid beneath the fabric to grip the hilt of his wrist-dagger.
His breathing slowed. The mist thickened. The fire dimmed. Eyes closed. Sleep claimed him quickly.
00:37 – Emberwood Night Cycle
Clop... clop-clop...
The sound was subtle at first—barely enough to rouse a hunter, but enough to twitch a beast’s ear.
Star stirred. His ears flicked like signal flags catching phantom winds. A breath hissed through his flared nostrils as he lifted his head from his curled posture. Orange firelight reflected in his eyes, making them glow like twin coals beneath shadowed brows.
Clop-clop-clop... Creaking... Jingle.
The faint, irregular rhythm of wooden wheels reached his sensitive hearing, followed by a metallic chime—offbeat, like a cracked bell forgotten by time.
Zephyr stirred next, drawn from shallow dreams where flame-striped beasts stalked him through tangled roots. His eyes opened into the hushed charcoal of midnight. Only fading embers glowed in the pit, painting ghostly shapes around their lean-to shelter.
Everything looked the same: the pond shimmered faintly under moonlight, the hawthorn’s twisted limbs stretched like an old man’s fingers, and the lean-to still stood, undisturbed.
But then came the bell again. A faint, metallic jingle. Crooked. Hollow. It didn’t belong.
Zephyr’s heartbeat quickened.
Star rose to his full stance with feline grace, nostrils flaring as he tracked the scent. His tail swept a trail through the dust. Zephyr’s fingers curled instinctively around the hilt of his dagger beside the blanket.
Fenna shifted. Her blanket rustled. "Mm... what is it?"
Aurora, tucked under Fenna’s blanket, gave a confused peep. Her feathers fluffed from instinctive unease.
Then, from the western tree line—down a path so narrow it barely qualified as a trail, something rolled forward out of the night. Wooden wheels squeaked and squawked. A muddy, tarp-covered cart ambled into view, the rope at its front trailing behind like a lazy snake.
But what pulled it...
Was a cow.
An enormous, caramel-brown cow with sad eyes and a jingling bell looped around her thick neck. She looked tired. Mud flecked her hide. Her hooves squished into the earth like a creature who had walked far more than she was built for.
"M-Muse?" Zephyr blinked, blinking harder in disbelief. "Is that... Muse?"
The cow froze, caught mid-step as if embarrassed. Her large eyes glistened, shimmering with dramatic betrayal. She let out a soft, slow Moo! that sounded like the musical score to a tragic novella.
Fenna pushed herself upright in disbelief. "How—how did she find us already?"
Star snorted, the sound dry—an annoyed welcome if there ever was one. His tail curled back behind him like a flick of sarcasm.
Zephyr stepped toward her cautiously, arms half-raised in mock surrender. "Easy, girl. What are you doing here?"
Muse stomped forward with the momentum of a goddess scorned. The cart wobbled over a root, squeaked indignantly, but held together. She stopped two paces short of Zephyr, exhaled through her nose hard enough to puff a cloud of visible breath, then without ceremony she swung her massive head and bonked him in the hip.
"Ow!" Zephyr staggered sideways, hand slapping his thigh. "What the—?"
Muse mooed again, louder this time. It wasn’t just sound. It was judgment.
She tossed her head dramatically, tail swishing with the self-righteous energy of a mother who just found the cookies half-eaten. Her hooves scraped the dirt once for emphasis.
Aurora chirped, fascinated. She fluttered up in a wobbly loop and landed on Muse’s back with a small plop, then proceeded to bounce in place like she had discovered the world’s only living trampoline.
Muse’s ears flicked. But she allowed it.
Fenna clutched her mouth, trying and failing to suppress a laugh. "She... she followed our scent?"
"Or something scared her, and led her here" Zephyr muttered. He walked around to the cart’s side, lifted a creaking wooden bin, and groaned. "My emergency beast feed herds are half-eaten."
Star finally stepped in. He circled the cart once, sniffed the wheels, then gave an audible snort. His muzzle scrunched as if trying to decode a complex smell.
Raccoon musk. Mud. Wet hay. Cow tears. Something else...
He gave a deep rumble that sounded dangerously close to, "You poor fool."