Del leaned against the rough bark of a tree, the dinkus carcass swaying slightly where it hung from a sturdy branch. Blood dripped in slow, rhythmic splashes onto the damp earth below. He followed Elara’s instructions to the letter—let it drain before butchering, keep the blade clean, work efficiently.

  Overhead, Misty sprawled across a low branch, her sleek form limned in the dying glow of the sun. She had been watching him for some time, tail twitching in that way he’d come to recognise as the feline equivalent of an unimpressed sigh.

  “Something on your mind, Misty?” Del asked, breaking the quiet.

  ‘Oh, only the usual existential dread about being tethered to a subpar hunter,’ she replied, the words soaked in mockery.

  Del shot her a look. “Hey, no fair. When did you get to swallow a dictionary?”

  She stretched, her claws flexing, catching the amber light before retracting lazily.

  ‘I put plenty of points into intelligence, Del. Maybe you should try the same.’

  Before he could fire back, she continued, her tone almost contemplative.

  ‘Really, Del, you’d think by now you’d have mastered the basics. It’s almost endearing how bad you are at this.’

  He chuckled, pushing himself upright and stepping toward the carcass. The thick scent of blood clung to the cooling air, mingling with the damp musk of leaves and churned soil. He drew his knife and ran a thumb along its edge, testing its keenness.

  “I’ll take that as constructive criticism.”

  ‘It’s not,’ Misty retorted. With effortless grace, she dropped from her perch, landing without a sound before sauntering closer. Her tail curled high, a silent declaration of superiority. She settled just beyond reach, watching him with cool amusement.

  ‘Let’s talk about our recent hunt, shall we?’

  Del groaned. “Oh, do we have to?”

  ‘Yes, we do.’ Her whiskers twitched, though the exaggerated solemnity in her voice made it clear she was enjoying this. ‘What exactly was your plan when you sent that herd halfway to the next continent? Was it performance art? Some abstract commentary on human futility?’

  “I shot at them,” he said defensively. “And I hit one.”

  ‘Barely.’ Laughter laced her voice. ‘And let’s not forget your approach. You crashed through the underbrush like a drunken troll. I think even the worms were fleeing in terror.’

  Del rolled his eyes. “Not all of us have the advantage of being perfectly silent, oh great Huntress of the Wilds.”

  ‘It’s not my fault you walk like your legs are made of broken cartwheels,’ she quipped, curling her paws neatly beneath her. ‘You know, Del, there’s a reason your kind invented farming. Stick to that. It’s less embarrassing for everyone.’

  He shook his head, unable to stop the grin creeping onto his face. “Alright, oh wise one, what’s your advice, then? How should I improve?”

  Misty tilted her head, green eyes gleaming.

  ‘Step one: stop being human. It’s a definite handicap. Step two: grow a tail. Balancing without one is just sad. And step three—’ she paused, clearly enjoying the moment ‘—stop smelling like fear and desperation.’

  Del huffed a short laugh. “You’re ruthless, you know that?”

  ‘It’s a gift,’ she said, flicking an ear before lifting a paw to groom. The movement was slow, deliberate, smug. ‘But in all seriousness, Del, hunting isn’t about brute force. It’s about patience. Precision. Timing. It’s about becoming one with the environment, not tripping over it.’

  “Easy for you to say,” he muttered. “You’ve got claws, fangs, and now a shapeshifting ability to boot.”

  ‘True,’ she admitted, sitting up a little straighter. ‘And speaking of which, have you noticed how effortlessly I’ve mastered it? One moment, I’m your adorable, perfectly proportioned feline companion. The next, I’m a ginger panther. A killing machine. Honestly, it’s almost unfair to the rest of the animal kingdom.’

  Del exhaled, eyeing her. “Modest, too.”

  ‘Of course. I have some dignity to maintain.’

  “Yes, you’ve mentioned that once or twice,” Del said dryly. “Though I do recall someone falling into that stream when she tried it on the way up here.”

  Her ears flicked, a rare crack in her usual composure.

  ‘That was a calculated test of the environment,’ Misty replied loftily. ‘And it’s not my fault water is wet. That’s a design flaw.’

  “Of course,” Del said, biting back a laugh. “How silly of me.”

  She flicked her tail once, dismissive, though the faint purr suggested she was pleased with herself.

  Del wiped his knife clean against the grass, the blade catching the last embers of fading daylight, its edge slick with blood. The sharp scent mixed with the rich, loamy earth, grounding him in the moment. The evening air had begun to shift, the heat of the day slowly fading, leaving behind the crispness of approaching night.

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  Above, the sky deepened from dusky violet to rich indigo, the first stars needling their way through the darkness. Wisps of cloud stretched thin across the horizon, streaked with the last traces of burnt orange and pink, but the light was draining now, surrendering to night’s inevitable grasp.

  The world around them had already begun its transformation. A rhythmic chorus of chirring insects filled the air, weaving between the distant calls of nocturnal hunters. Somewhere beyond the trees, a rattle-wing let out its distinctive clicking cry, the dull blue-grey creature barely visible as it flitted between the shifting canopy. The undergrowth stirred with unseen movement—small creatures waking, testing the edges of safety.

  Misty perched on a low branch, her sleek coat catching what remained of the sunlight, its glow turning the edges of her fur to burnished copper. She had been watching him for some time, unmoving except for the slow, deliberate sweep of her tail—a silent blend of amusement and judgement.

  A faint breeze stirred through the trees, carrying the scent of damp leaves and the distant trace of running water. The firelight from the shrine was still too far to be seen, but Del could feel the change in the air—the moment when the land no longer belonged to the day. The wild was waking.

  ‘The real question,’ Misty continued, ‘is why you, with all your so-called adaptability, can’t seem to shoot a single dinkus.’

  Del threw up his hands. “Because they’re fast, alright? And I’m... not.”

  ‘Fast?’ Her tail swished lazily. ‘You think that’s the issue?’ She let out a long, suffering sigh. ‘Del, even if you were blessed with cheetah legs, you’d still find a way to trip over yourself. It’s about instinct, not speed.’

  “And I suppose you’d be able to teach me?” he asked, dragging his knife down the dinkus’s belly in a steady stroke. The hide parted cleanly, and he stepped back as its innards spilled onto the earth with a dull, wet thud.

  ‘Oh, absolutely.’ Misty stretched, extending her paws with languid ease. ‘Lesson one: stop thinking like a human.’

  Del arched a brow. “I don’t suppose you could elaborate on that?”

  ‘Gladly,’ she said, pacing a slow circle around him. ‘Humans overthink everything. You plan, you strategize, you hesitate. A good hunter doesn’t think; they act. When I see a mouse, do you think I sit there debating the ethics of eating it?’

  “No,” Del admitted. “But I also don’t imagine you write poetry about it afterwards.”

  ‘Exactly.’ She settled back, tail curling neatly around her paws. ‘Focus on the now, Del. The moment. Let go of that buzzing chaos in your head and trust your senses. Well, the ones you haven’t dulled with bad food and even worse ale.’

  Del snorted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she said sweetly. Then, with a glint in her eye, she added, ‘But don’t worry, you have one redeeming quality.’

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  ‘You have me,’ she said, her tone dripping with mock magnanimity. ‘And honestly, it’s a miracle you’ve survived this long without me. Truly, you should consider building a shrine.’

  “A shrine? For you?” Del laughed. “And what would I offer? Catnip and warm blankets?”

  ‘Throw in some fresh fish, and we might be onto something,’ she mused, purring in his mind. ‘But really, Del, don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re not the worst companion I could’ve been saddled with.’

  Del smirked. “That’s high praise. Coming from you.”

  Misty padded closer, the sharp edge of her humour softening, just a fraction.

  ‘You’re stubborn, hopelessly clumsy, and your aim is questionable at best, but you’re loyal. And you listen—most of the time. That counts for something.’

  Del exhaled, her unexpected sincerity settling somewhere deep in his chest. “Thanks, Misty.”

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ she said, her voice quieter now. ‘But if you could try not to scare off the prey next time, I’d appreciate it.’

  “I’ll do my best,” he promised, reaching out to scratch behind her ears.

  She leaned into his touch, just for a moment. Her eyes slipped half-closed, a low purr thrumming through her, a rare and fleeting indulgence. Then, as if catching herself, she pulled away with a small shake, resetting the boundary between them. Her tail flicked sharply, a silent return to form.

  ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an important prowl to attend to. Try not to embarrass yourself while I’m gone.’

  Del smirked. “I’ll do my best.”

  She didn’t respond, but her presence lingered in his thoughts, her voice slipping through his mind like a whisper.

  ‘Make sure to keep the liver for me. And Del? If you’re going to make a fool of yourself, at least make it entertaining.’

  Then she was gone.

  Her form dissolved into the long shadows beneath the trees, swallowed by shifting layers of moonlight and darkness. He caught the faintest glint of her eyes—two narrow slivers of reflected light—before even that vanished, leaving only the whisper of grass parting in her wake. The night absorbed her completely, as if she had never been there at all.

  But Misty was not simply vanishing—she was hunting.

  She moved low, weaving seamlessly between the undergrowth, each step deliberate, a perfect harmony of muscle and intent. The scents of the night layered around her—damp soil, crushed leaves, the lingering iron tang of blood from the dinkus. But beneath it all, something else prickled at the edges of her awareness.

  A scent she didn’t recognise.

  Her pace slowed. She ghosted between slender trees, their rough bark brushing against her fur as she passed. The silence here was different—not the tranquil quiet of a resting forest, but something waiting. Watching.

  She followed the scent trail to a large tree, its gnarled roots half-exposed, curling over the earth like grasping fingers. The marks were faint but unmistakable—four deep gouges raked into the bark, evenly spaced, deliberate. A warning, or a claim. Something had marked this place. Something unknown.

  Misty’s tail swayed as she studied the markings. The air here was thicker, the scent stronger. Whatever left them wasn’t far.

  Her ears twitched.

  A distant sound—softer than a whisper, almost imperceptible. A twig snapped somewhere beyond the trees.

  Her pupils widened, swallowing the moonlight, her entire body sharpening into readiness. She turned toward the noise, muscles poised, breath held.

  For a long moment, nothing. The world stood still. Only the rustling of unseen creatures and the distant hum of insects filled the void.

  Then, a pair of eyes—low to the ground, gleaming faintly in the darkness.

  Misty didn’t move.

  Neither did the eyes.

  The creature, whatever it was, lingered just beyond the treeline, barely more than a shifting suggestion of form in the gloom. Watching. Measuring.

  Then, just as quickly, it was gone. A flicker of motion. A shape melting into the deeper dark.

  Misty exhaled slowly. Her ears flicked back, but she turned away from the scarred tree and padded toward Del.

  For now, it wasn’t a threat.

  But it wasn’t prey either.

  And that made it worth remembering.

  Del let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders before turning back to the dinkus. The night had deepened fully now, the air cool against his skin. The dampness of the earth was rising, the scent rich and heavy on the evening breeze.

  A lone bird let out a hollow, echoing cry in the distance—some nocturnal thing declaring its presence.

  He worked quickly, untying the carcass and hoisting it over his shoulder, the weight familiar against his back. His muscles protested, but he ignored them, gathering his gear before straightening.

  The path stretched ahead, winding through shadowed groves and open fields bathed in moonlight.

  Somewhere in the dark, Misty was already moving unseen, a silent guardian in the wild.

  Far beyond, barely visible on the horizon, the first flickers of firelight marked the shrine’s location—a distant beacon against the vastness of the night.

  With a final glance at the waiting woods, Del set off toward it.