Reading Trail Novels & Stories

Ravin's POV The trail didn't waver, that was the thing that told me most clearly that this wasn't a coincidence, wasn't someone wandering or getting turned around in the dark. The scent moved in a straight line, purposeful and deliberate, like someone who knew exactly where they were going and went there without second-guessing the route. I followed it past the first stretch of open land beyond the gate, through the narrow treeline that marked the unofficial boundary between Draven's grounds and the stretch of territory that belonged to no pack in particular, unclaimed land that most students never crossed and most of them didn't know existed.

It leads deeper into the woods, away from the usual training paths. My mark tingles slightly, and I ignore it. I can't think about Miguel right now. I need to focus. The trail winds between thick tree trunks and over fallen logs. I move carefully, checking the ground for signs. Broken twigs. Disturbed leaves. Anything that might indicate someone passed through here recently. About fifteen minutes in, I find the first marker. A small flag tied to a low branch, soaked in the tracking scent. One down. Two more to go.

The woods were quiet except for the sound of Rina’s quick steps. Her eyes scanned the ground, her hands brushing away low branches. She saw marks on the soil, small prints, broken leaves. Her heart leapt. “A trail,” she whispered to herself. She bent lower and followed it. The trail curved around trees, down a slope, across a patch of grass. Each step made her believe more that she was close. But as she went deeper, the signs grew weaker. The prints faded. The leaves seemed older, scattered by the wind.

Enough to track. The trail is obvious now that I follow it. They aren’t scared. That’s the problem. They don’t move like scavengers. No wandering. No doubling back. Straight line. Purpose. I follow them for almost an hour. Slow. Careful. I hear voices before I see them. “…don’t like this,” someone mutters. “Shut up,” another snaps. “We’re already here.” I crouch behind a fallen log and listen. “We should’ve met closer to the border.”

My words made Isabel, who was chasing after me, come to a stop. Rosalie and I went back inside the car. Through the rearview mirror, I saw Isabel fall onto the curb and wail. I didn't understand why she was upset. She made her choice, so why was she regretting it now? Nevertheless, none of this mattered to me now. My future was bound to be filled with bliss and joy. That was the most important thing. That night, my heart burst with satisfaction as I watched while Rosalie slept peacefully beside me. I had a few unread texts on my phone, and some of them were from Isabel. She said she had left and wasn't going to bother me anymore. She wished me well, hoping that I would be happy.

“But it’s… strange.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “The trail loops. Like someone wants to confuse us. They doubled back, crossed their own path.” “They’re trained,” Dalton said grimly. No rogue did that. Not unless they had experience… or orders. My jaw locked. “We split up. Dalton and I go east. Rex and Omar, circle back north in case they left a decoy scent. Stay in comms. No heroics.” Everyone nodded, and we moved. The deeper we went, the thicker the forest grew, branches clawing at our clothes, fog curling low along the ground like ghostly tendrils. The air felt wrong here. Still. Too quiet.

Only the wind. Then a voice crackled through the comm in my ear. Rain. “Hey. Found footprints on the west trail. Two sets. Fast, erratic.” “Heading?” “Toward the ravine.” I swore. “That’s near the old wards. They could break something.” “They could break themselves,” Rain said. “Want me to intercept?” “No. Just track them. Keep your distance.” A pause. “You’re afraid they’ll bolt again.” “I know they’ll bolt again.”

‌ “‌Fine. Come.” We walke‍d into his map ro‍om, a plac‍⁠e‍ full o‌f scrolls, b‌ooks, and the‌ s‍cent of ink.‍ Trave‍n⁠ p⁠ull⁠ed a large map f‍r⁠om a dr‍a⁠we⁠‌r‍ and spread i⁠t across the‌⁠ tabl‍e, p⁠lacing iron markers o⁠n d‌iffere‌nt spots. “The tr‌ace we fo‍⁠und⁠ from X‌⁠an⁠dia‍ st‍ops⁠ h‌‌ere,‍” he‍ s⁠aid. “But‌ this i⁠s the part that matters, t⁠he sc⁠ent tra‌il splits i‍nto thr⁠‍ee‌ paths.”‌ I leaned in‍. “‍Whic‍h pack⁠s?” “Th‌e first r‍oute leads to your pack,‌”‌ h ⁠e⁠ sa‍id. “Which makes no sense because your warr‍iors a‍‍l⁠ready se‍arch⁠ed everywhere.” “And the‍ second?” “Raymo‌‌nd's pac‌k.‍”

“You can deny range but you cannot unmake what already touched.” With that he left again without answering. The spear team returned before full dark with dirt on their boots and less doubt in their mouths. “Withdrawal trail is hotter than any line since the cottage,” the senior tracker reported. “They left the cut in disorder and corrected later, but not early enough. We held the strong scent past the first false fork.” Kai straightened at once. “Then we proceed farther on that trail. I want to see what sits on it maybe camp sign, holding structure, transport marks. Anything real.”

“This is the eighteenth family we've been able to trace. Where is he heading? What is its trajectory? The man thought for a moment. Wiping his glasses, he replied: - From the Ridgrain Mountains, where the very first massacre took place, the trail leads from the Reef through Angan and the western part of the South Coast, and from Witch Mountain to Mirland ... How long has it been? Exactly! Five weeks from the first case. - Send all free soldiers to Mirland. Cancel weekends and vacations if necessary. I'm waiting for reports on every movement, on the slightest rustle. So that the hare could not run unnoticed by them! It's clear?