The Northern Woods

I last exactly three days, three days of avoiding the northern woods, three days of pretending I'm not curious, three days of replaying the council meeting on a loop, wondering why Elder Mara looked like she'd seen a ghost.

On the morning of the fourth day, I give up. Curiosity, I've learned, works a lot like hunger ignore it long enough and it just gets louder.

The sun's barely up when I slip out of the village. Mist hangs low between the trees, turning the forest into a maze of silver shadows. The world feels quiet. Not silent a forest is never actually silent. Birds call from somewhere overhead, leaves rustle, and nearby a squirrel is loudly, personally offended by the existence of another squirrel. Nature, doing its thing.

But the deeper north I go, the more that changes. Fewer sounds, Colder air, Dimmer light under the thickening canopy. By the time I cross the old boundary markers, there's an uncomfortable knot sitting in my stomach.

The northern woods have always had a reputation. Kids get warned off. Hunters skip certain trails. Stories cling to this place like cobwebs stories I always figured were nonsense.

I'm starting to reconsider that.

A crow lands on a branch nearby, black eyes locked on me. Watching.

"Don't start," I tell it.

It tilts its head like it's considering a comeback.

"Whatever mysterious forest nonsense you're involved in, I want no part of it."

The crow takes off, clearly offended. "Good," I mutter. The forest doesn't answer. I keep walking.

The trees get older the deeper I go massive, ancient trunks rising up like pillars in some forgotten cathedral, roots twisting across the ground, moss over everything. The air smells damp and earthy. Old. Very old.

About an hour in, I find what I'm looking for. Tracks several sets, crossing a patch of soft ground near a stream. I crouch down, my heart picking up speed.

Wolf tracks. Large ones. But not Blackthorn wolves I've spent enough time around hunters to know the difference. The spacing's off. Uneven. Almost like whatever made them wasn't used to walking on four legs.

A chill runs down my spine. I lean in closer and notice something worse.

The tracks just stop. One print, then nothing like whatever made them vanished mid-stride.

That's not possible. Animals don't disappear without a trace.

I check the area anyway. No scent. No broken branches. No more prints. Just empty forest — and that feeling of being watched, back again. Stronger this time.

I stand slowly. "Hello?"

The word sounds ridiculous the second it leaves my mouth. Nobody answers. Wind sweeps through the trees, leaves whispering overhead, and for a few seconds nothing.

Then: crack.

A branch snaps somewhere behind me. I spin around, pulse jumping. Nothing there. Just shadows, trees, mist. Somehow the forest feels bigger all of a sudden, and I feel very, very small.

"Right." I start backing away. "Time to leave."

Probably the first sensible decision I've made all week. Naturally, fate doesn't reward sensible decisions.

A low growl rolls through the trees. I freeze. It came from my left — no, my right — no, everywhere, moving with the wind like it doesn't want to be pinned down. Another growl follows. Closer. Deeper. There's something underneath it that isn't quite animal. Almost human.

My mouth goes dry. I reach for the hunting knife at my belt, and it suddenly feels like a very small comfort.

Then the forest goes completely silent. No birds. No insects. Nothing.

Every instinct I have is screaming at me to move. I don't know why. I just know I need to.

I turn and nearly walk straight into someone.

I stumble back, my heart slamming. A figure stands less than ten feet away. A woman, or something close enough to one tall, pale, wrapped in a dark cloak that seems to blend into the shadows around her like it belongs there. Long white hair falls over her shoulders. Her eyes are silver, like moonlight caught on water.

I have no idea how she got that close without making a sound.

She studies me, calm, unreadable not hostile, not friendly. Just watching.

"You're trespassing."

Her voice is quiet, but it carries clean through the trees like it doesn't need to be loud.

Of all the things I expected to run into out here, an irritated stranger wasn't high on the list. "I could say the same thing."

One eyebrow lifts. Apparently that's not the answer she expected.

"Could you?"

"Seems fair."

Her face stays unreadable for a long moment. Then, just for a flicker, something like amusement crosses it gone almost as fast as it came.

"What pack are you from?" she asks.

Something tells me to lie. I don't know why. Unfortunately, I've never been much good at it.

"Blackthorn."

The amusement disappears. Completely. Like watching sunlight vanish behind a storm front.

She goes still. Dangerously still.

"Blackthorn," she repeats. Not a question.

My unease deepens. "Why?"

She studies me longer than she needs to like she's searching for something, or confirming it. Then she looks away, toward the deeper woods, toward somewhere I can't see.

"Leave."

"What?"

"Go back to your pack." Her tone's shifted there's real urgency in it now. "You're not safe here."

Before I can ask anything else, a distant howl cuts through the trees. Her head snaps up, and for the first time, actual alarm crosses her face.

A second howl answers it. Then a third. Closer. Much closer.

She curses under her breath.

"What is that?" I ask.

She ignores me. "Run."

"What?"

"Run."

The word cracks through the forest like a whip. The growl from before is back, and this time it's not hiding,it's close, very close. Branches shake. Something big is moving through the trees, fast, too fast.

I feel the blood drain out of my face.

The woman steps in front of me, silver eyes fixed on the dark. Whatever's coming, she's afraid of it — and that scares me more than anything else so far, because something tells me this isn't a woman who scares easily.

Then, from the shadows between the trees, two eyes open. Glowing, with Crimson red, Watching us, Unblinking, Hungry.