We trudge through snow at the edge of the forest, the vast foothills of rock and ice beyond us. Mountains stand above everything, decorating the background of our view. Taren walks beside me, his eyes on the tracks we’ve followed here. He sent Raimi and Denet back to Ashgrove.

  The hollowbeast’s home could be anywhere near here.

  Not a single critter has appeared, even before Taren’s [Farsight].

  “It’s odd,” he tells me. “Winter’s a quiet time in the forest, but this is something else. There isn’t anything for the hollowbeast to hunt there. The open stretches in the foothills are much easier for it to seek prey. I wonder what drove it so far from home.”

  I don’t say what I think—that my rot and decay are affecting the animals—that nothing will be the same as long as I’m around.

  Taren leans down to inspect a patch of snow and rock. “Burrowmites. Something the hollowbeast would hunt. These tracks are fresh.”

  So the beast didn’t come to the forest out of hunger.

  “We’re likely to find one of their warrens—if the hollowbeast hasn’t torn it up already.” Taren smiles. “Crazy critters, with so many tunnels, you’d think they’d run in circles.”

  I’ve never seen a burrowmite, so I’m not sure how to respond.

  We eventually find what looks like a hollowbeast lair dug into the side of a hill. Little animal bones litter the floor, and it reeks. Then we see splotches of dark blood trailing from the lair out into the snow. Blood mixed in the white makes patches of dark red that lead away from the hill and towards the forest.

  “Howlers is still my guess,” Taren says. “From the look of the gashes and the tracks here. But they wouldn’t risk fighting something so strong. Not in normal winters.” Then he looks at the sky. “We should head back if we don’t want to sleep out here. Honep and Orlen will help bring down the howler population with me.”

  Taren opens his mouth to say more, but then he shuts it. He stares behind me.

  I turn and see the nameless raven, perched on the withered branch of a dead tree.

  “That can’t be a good sign,” Taren says.

  “It’s usually not.”

  “You know this raven?”

  I nod. “It seems to have a sense of when danger’s afoot.” I spin around, looking for what caught the raven’s attention, especially so far from the village. “Other times it’s guided me to ?danger, like when I wanted to find the source of decay in the woods, it helped me find a Rot Heart.”

  “Isn’t that the night you nearly died?”

  “Yes.” Not my best memory.

  “It seems like the scrapping raven’s trying to kill you.”

  “I’d asked for direction—”

  I don’t get to finish because a sudden noise grows, coming from underground. It sounds like shrieking mice, but long and stretched like a wolf’s howl. Many cries overlap one another, creating a cacophony.

  Taren’s as befuddled as me. And we remain confused until the ground bursts open, freeing a mass of creatures shaped like blood crawlers with rabbit fur and legs.

  Burrowmite - Level 3

  Three dozen of these rabid creatures tear through the loose earth like paper. Though they have smaller mouths than blood crawlers, their teeth drip black saliva that fizzles on the ground where it touches.

  Taren falls back. “There’s something wrong with these burrowmites.”

  We both draw bows, but the burrowmites race across the snow at us, covering the distance in seconds.

  [Chilling Presence] rages through me, stopping their advance. Taren glances at me, but isn’t hindered in the least. I’m grateful his level’s so much higher than mine.

  The burrowmites shriek, grating my ears, but they don’t come any closer. They don’t flee either. I can see more clearly now the blackness that pulses along their bodies. [Detect Decay] hints at some kind of rot that has overtaken these small creatures.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Taren and I pick them off one by one, but my mana drains fast. “I can’t hold them back for long.”

  We both turn and flee back towards the forest. [Chilling Presence] keeps pursuit at a distance, but we’re followed, despite our stamina burns.

  [Chilling Presence] has reached Level 4.

  The higher level gives more weight to the [Skill], pushing the burrowmites further back, but they do not relent, even when we breach the forest.

  “Are they always so determined?” I ask through gasps of breath.

  Taren leaps over a fallen log and lands near me. “They’re scavengers.”

  Figures. Only my raven would find something so twisted to deal with. Maybe Taren’s right, maybe the raven doesn’t think about my health, maybe it only wants to take me to the next encounter.

  With a twist of his shoulder as he runs, Taren launches an arrow, but misses the pack.

  I see Honep and Orlen in the distance, prowling along the edge of a glade of fresh snow. They hear us crash through the woods and shout in surprise when they catch sight of what pursues us.

  “Demon burrowmites,” says Honep as he draws back an arrow.

  Three arrows burst from one and pin two burrowmites behind me. Orlen fires his own array, knocking one from the lead on us. My [Chilling Presence] has long since gone cold. My mana replenishes at a slow but steady rate.

  Taren hurdles over a bush and lands with glowing feet so he can steady his aim. A single blast of a lightning arrow scatters the monstrous critters.

  I’m less than useful. I can’t hit a single moving target with my bow, so I grip a knife, ready for whatever comes my way. But with three hunters, there’s little else to do but watch. Arrows pierce the burrowmites. And though their numbers dwindle by the second, they do not retreat. Soon, the ground before us is littered with their blackened bodies. Rot hisses in the snow and melts into the earth. The sight of it unnerves me.

  I heat up [Detect Decay] to search for anything beyond the burrowmites. The rapid pulsing from the few that remain distract me, but I push those sensations aside and extend my range of detection, burning up mana. Nothing stands out to me. Nothing beyond the standard wintertime rot.

  Nox clicks from under my shirt. I feel his sense of agreement. Nothing else but the burrowmites.

  Once the last mite dies with a withering cry, Honep turns on Taren and me. “How in the shadows did you run into something like this? I thought these demonic little puff worms lived in the foothills?”

  I step forward. “We were following tracks of a hollowbeast that came into the forest.”

  Honep ignores me, his eyes locked on Taren. “So you’re taking orders from the faithless forest boy now?”

  “Enough, Honep,” Orlen says. “We each go our own path. Sevorn’s done good amongst the villagers—”

  “Scap, Orlen, don’t you start up too.” Honep points the end of his bow at me. “I told you bonetouched fools the boy was trouble. Father Edrine agrees.”

  “Edrine’s a liar.” Taren comes to my side. Protective.

  “Come now,” Orlen starts, but Honep doesn’t let the older man finish.

  “I don’t care what your scrapping father told you about the cleric,” Honep says. “You’re lucky we took you in as a young hunter. You’da never survived if it weren’t for me and Orlen here. Your father doesn’t—”

  “Don’t you say another word about my father.” Taren grips an arrow in his quiver.

  Honep pauses, eyes on the arrow in Taren’s hand. His arm twitches towards his own quiver.

  Orlen stares hard at Taren, not speaking, but caution in his eyes.

  Honep’s level thirteen. Taren’s level ten. The boy shouldn’t frighten him. But I’ve seen the way Taren fights. The way everyone relies on his [Skills].

  Orlen’s the first to break the silence. “Now’s not the time to prove yourself, Taren.”

  Something breaks through to my friend because he lets his arrow drop back into the quiver. His voice is bitter, and his eyes don’t leave Honep. “The warning still stands. Never again.”

  I cannot sense fear like I do decay, but the way the older hunter stands—twitching and frozen in place—if that’s not fear, then I don’t know the feeling.

  Taren doesn’t look back as he turns and catches my shoulder. We walk away.

  I know Honep. I worry we’ll find an arrow between the shoulder blades at any moment, but nothing happens. Eventually, I hear the heavy footsteps trudge through the snow behind us.

  “You think that was foolish, don’t you?” asks Taren when we’re halfway to Ashgrove.

  I shrug. “You know his strength better than I do.”

  Taren chuckles at that. “I do, but that’s not what I meant.” He kicks at the snow. “Making enemies. Of the other hunters, of Edrine. I’m almost as bad as you.”

  I turn on him, only to see a grin on his face.

  “I should be better,” he continues. “I always lose it when it comes to my father.”

  “What happened to him?” The words are out too soon.

  Taren falters mid step, but catches himself and keeps walking. “He was faithless, like I am now. And when he fell ill, Edrine claimed he could do nothing, that darkness had taken hold of him. I couldn’t save him.” He glances at me. “But that won’t happen again. Not with you. I know what I must do.”

  I’m confused, but he says no more about it. We spend the rest of the hike in silence.

  Denet greets us at the edge of the village, expectant. He’s quickly disappointed when we have no meat. We promise to make another trip soon.

  “Find a big elk or boar to bring home,” Denet says to us. “Something huge, so I can have meat every day.”

  His wish fulfills the moment he blurts it out.

  Snowhorn - Level 5

  An entire herd of the elk-like beasts stampede right toward us, toward Ashgrove.

  Ink Outlaw is a story I personally followed since it's early chapters. Special shoutout to a really fun progressive fantasy!