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At least, they shouldn’t.

A branch snapped somewhere to my left.

I pulled the bear spray from the side pocket of my bag and removed the safety clip. I’d practiced with an inert canister before leaving home, but the real one felt disturbingly light in my hand.

“Hello?” I called.

Nothing answered.

“Just so you know, that was not an invitation to come closer.”

A faint vibration shivered through the ground beneath my boots. I took one step toward the trail, and something shifted in the undergrowth. My heart slammed against my ribs as a cluster of ferns parted, revealing a dark shape close to the earth.

I raised the spray as the shape hopped onto a moss-covered log.

It was a rabbit, or something approximately rabbit-shaped. Its long ears ended in delicate sprays of white flowers, and a thin layer of soft green moss covered its back. It watched me with enormous brown eyes while chewing a purple mushroom.

I lowered the canister.

The rabbit’s nose twitched as I took out my phone. It swallowed the rest of the mushroom, turned, and bounded off the log before I could open the camera. Each time its paws touched the ground, tiny white flowers appeared in the moss behind it. They lasted only a few seconds before folding in on themselves and disappearing.

I stared after it. “This place is ridiculous.”

A bird somewhere above me made a sound suspiciously like a laugh.

I put the bear spray away and glanced at my watch. I’d already spent forty minutes at what was supposed to be a brief first survey stop. My room at the Blackbriar Inn was still full of unopened equipment cases, and I had an appointment at the town administrative office that afternoon to finalize the protected-area access attached to my research permit.

Until then, I was authorized to survey public trails only. Public trails which, technically, I could still see.

I crouched beside the oak one final time. The responsive vine had wrapped itself around the temporary marker and appeared to be attempting to pull it from the ground.

“Leave that alone. I need to find you again.”

It tugged harder, and the marker tilted.

I reached for the vine near the soil, intending to unwind it before it uprooted the marker. The visible stem disappeared beneath a cushion of moss, emerging again several inches away before climbing the oak. It might have propagated through runners, or the section I could see might be a lateral shoot from a larger root network.

I brushed the moss aside. The soil beneath was dark and loose, threaded with hair-thin roots. The vine twitched beneath my fingers. I followed it carefully, exposing another inch, then another, until I found a thicker woody section embedded beneath the surface.

Interesting. The root was far larger than the visible growth would suggest.

I closed my fingers around it and applied gentle pressure, testing how deeply it ran. It didn’t move. I shifted my grip and pulled a little harder.

The forest went silent. One moment there were birds, insects, and leaves rustling overhead. The next, every sound stopped at once. Even the vine became still.

A prickle crawled down my spine.

I released the root and straightened, wiping soil from my gloves. “I wasn’t trying to damage it.”

The words sounded absurdly loud.

Something exhaled behind me. Warm air brushed the back of my neck.

I froze.

The breath came again, carrying the scent of cedar, fresh-cut wood, and something unmistakably animal.

Whatever stood behind me was tall. Very tall. The warmth reached the crown of my head, and a shadow fell across the ground in front of my boots, swallowing mine completely.