Normal. Safe. Just a walk in the woods.
"There." Falla nods toward a fallen log about twenty feet ahead, where a glint of something catches the light.
We approach together, and sure enough, one of the serpent tokens sits nestled in a hollow of the rotting wood. Falla retrieves it, tucking it into his belt pouch before we continue deeper.
The forest thickens around us, underbrush making the path less obvious. Falla navigates it easily, his movements economical and sure. I follow in his wake, trusting his lead.
A shout echoes from somewhere to our left—Ursik, probably, declaring some victory or another. The sound makes me flinch but I push through it, reminding myself that it's just enthusiasm. Just competition. Nothing dangerous.
We find two more tokens in quick succession, Falla spotting them before I even register their presence. The third one sits wedged in a tree hollow nearly eight feet up, requiring him to climb slightly to reach it.
I watch from below, cataloging the efficiency of his movements. No wasted motion, no hesitation. Just clinical assessment and execution.
"Four down," he says after dropping back to the ground. "Probably six more to find."
I nod, not trusting my voice. The deeper we go, the more the forest seems to press in around us. Shadows lengthen. The sounds of other pairs fade into distance.
We're alone out here. Isolated. Far from help if something goes wrong.
The thought surfaces before I can stop it, and my breathing immediately wants to quicken. I force it steady, counting again.
Four in. Hold. Four out.
Falla moves ahead, scanning the next cluster of trees. I follow, my steps less certain now. The ground beneath my feet feels uneven, though logically I know it hasn't changed.
A branch snaps somewhere behind us.
My head whips around, heart suddenly hammering. Nothing there. Just forest. Just normal sounds.
But my body doesn't care about logic. It remembers running through woods like these, fear driving every step. Remembers being hunted.
Another shout in the distance—farther away this time, distorted by trees and wind. It could be celebration. Could be discovery.
Could be something else.
My chest tightens. The forest that seemed merely dense moments ago now feels suffocating, every shadow potentially hiding threats. The branches overhead look like reaching claws. The underbrush rustles with phantom movement.
The memories flood in.
Running. Stumbling. The Stonevein voices behind me, laughing as they gave chase. The way they'd let me get ahead just enough to think I might escape before closing the distance again, toying with their prey.
The forest blurs. I'm not here anymore—I'm back there, lungs burning, legs screaming, knowing that when they caught me it would hurt and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
My vision tunnels. The carved serpent tokens stop being harmless wood and become symbols of predators, of being tracked, of being prey in a hunt I can't win.
Someone crashes through the underbrush nearby—another pair searching for tokens, probably—but my body interprets it as threat. As danger closing in.
I can't breathe. Can't think past the roaring panic flooding my system. The forest spins, solid ground feeling unstable beneath my feet.
They're coming. They're going to find me. Going to hurt me again.
Run. I need to run. Need to get away before they get me.
I won't survive it again.
7
RESSA
