The forest in the evening painted a different picture than it had under the noonday sun. Soft amber light spilled through the canopy in fractured beams, catching on drifting motes of dust and the trembling edges of leaves. The air was cooler now, touched with the musk of damp earth and the faint tang of crushed grass. From the undergrowth came the stir of life—rabbits nosing out of cover, the whir of wings overhead, the first tentative calls of deer as they moved toward the grazing grounds.
And yet, the deer themselves left little trace. Vierna crouched low, her eyes combing the ground the way Sieg had drilled her to—searching for bent grass, fresh droppings, the faint imprints of cloven hooves in the softer earth. She brushed her fingers across a broken fern stem, tested the damp soil for weight, even raised her head to catch the faint direction of the wind. Nothing certain. No clear sign.
It unsettled her. By now, she should have been able to read the forest like a page. Instead, the trail ran thin, as if the animals themselves had learned to move without leaving a mark.
“Vierna, look.”
Fenric pointed toward the base of a young oak. At first glance, it was nothing—just rough bark catching the low light. But when she stepped closer, she saw it: a shallow scrape where antlers had rubbed the trunk, the faintest threads of hair clinging to the edges. A rutting mark. Fresh.
Her eyes narrowed. Even for her, it would’ve taken a careful sweep to notice. No way someone as “incompetent” as Fenric claimed to be could have picked it out so casually.
“How did you see it?” Vierna asked, her curiosity already at a boiling point.
Fenric tilted his head, ears flicking as if the question amused him. “Well… uhmm… I am Beastkin. Our eyes catch things yours don’t. Marks like this, scents, even the way branches bend—it’s easier for us to notice.” He tapped lightly at the scrape, smiling faintly. “Doesn’t make me a better hunter, though.”
Vierna studied him in silence. The explanation made sense, but the ease with which he’d spotted the sign—so effortlessly, without hesitation—didn’t quite sit right.
“Then how can you-“
‘Vierna! Don’t ask him that!’ Moony whispered into her head. ‘I know you are curious but we cant make him think of us as nosy!’
“How can I what?” Fenric asked, his tone light.
But Vierna caught it—the uneven rise and fall of his chest, the way his breath came faster than the moment called for.
His eyes no longer held their usual warmth; they gleamed with something else, something raw and unguarded. For an instant, they painted a different picture of him, as if something primal pressed just beneath the surface, straining to bleed through.
“Nothing.”
As she spoke, she silently conjured her gun and slipped it onto her belt. Fenric was so focused on the bark that he completely missed it. Vierna couldn’t tell what was going through his head—but she wasn’t about to take chances. Alone in the forest with a man she had just met, she wanted to be prepared for anything.
“Let’s go, Vierna! I can smell they’re close!”
“Okay, Fenric. Lead the way.”
She followed, stealing a glance at him as he moved ahead. He didn’t look back, his eyes fixed on the trail. Fenric might have resembled a deer in form, but in that moment, there was nothing gentle about him. The softness usually associated with his kind was gone; what remained was something sharper—closer to a predator tracking its target, eager and almost hungry to close the distance.
His movements grew erratic, almost feral. He dashed forward in short bursts, then froze without warning, head tilting as he sniffed the air. His ears twitched, his nostrils flared, and then—without a sound—he slipped between the trees like a shadow. It should’ve looked clumsy, the way he pounced and darted through the brush, but it wasn’t. Every motion had a strange rhythm, unrefined yet efficient, the kind born of instinct rather than training.
Vierna had trouble keeping up. The branches that caught her coat seemed to part for him. Even with all the brutal drilling Sieg had put her through, even after every lesson burned into her muscle and mind, she couldn’t move like that.
He was in his element. She could see it in the way his tail stiffened, the way his shoulders coiled with each sound, as though the forest itself spoke to him in a language she wasn’t meant to understand.
He moved even faster now, the rhythm of his steps breaking apart into something uneven, almost animal. His breaths came heavier, lips parted, and for a moment Vierna thought she saw it—a thin glint of drool tracing down from the corner of his mouth.
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Then he dropped lower, one hand brushing the ground, then another, until he was moving on all fours. The motion was fluid, disturbingly natural, his limbs shifting with a grace no human training could mimic.
Vierna slowed. Her heart gave a quiet thud, not from fear exactly, but from the uncanny sight before her. Fenric wasn’t tracking like a man anymore. He was following scent, instinct, hunger.
Finally, he stopped near a thick bush, crouching low. Vierna caught up a few breaths later, her pulse still steadying from the chase.
“… there they are, Vierna,” Fenric whispered, his voice tinged with excitement. “Aren’t they look delicious?”
Vierna parted the leaves and looked ahead.
The clearing opened like a secret untouched by the world. Moonlight spilled through the breaks in the canopy, washing the tall grass in a pale, silvery glow. A faint mist hung close to the ground, softening every edge, turning the scene almost dreamlike. The deer stood in quiet peace—three of them, their coats glowing faintly under the moonlight, ears twitching at the whisper of night insects. The smallest among them nuzzled its mother’s side, unafraid, unaware of the danger watching from the brush.
For a moment, even Vierna forgot to breathe. It was too still, too gentle—an innocence that didn’t belong in a world like theirs.
Hehe…” He snickered, “Vierna, give me the musket… the musket… give me.”
Without complaint, Vierna handed him the musket. It was strange—until now, Fenric had always let her take the kill. Yet when it came to the deer, a creature that so closely resembled him, he wanted to do it himself.
Fenric hummed softly as he reloaded the runelock musket. He slid the sealant into the barrel, dropped in the bullet, and pushed it down with the ramrod in one smooth motion. His hands didn’t tremble. Each movement was precise, measured, almost graceful—too steady for someone who was supposed to be inexperienced.
“There… good as—”
His words cut short as he gagged and vomited. The musket slipped from his grasp and hit the ground—luckily without misfiring. When he looked up again, his eyes had lost that feral gleam, returning to their usual softness, wide and unfocused. They shook erratically, as though he’d just woken from a nightmare.
He clutched at his chest, trying to steady his breathing. His lungs heaved like bellows left too long by the fire—uneven, rasping, desperate for air. The strength that had filled him moments ago drained away, leaving only trembling and confusion in its place.
Vierna placed her hands on his back and glanced toward the deer, which had raised their heads at the sound of the musket thudding to the ground. They scanned the area for a moment, then fled into the brush.
At that moment, Vierna saw it—the same aura she had seen before, when Albrecht allowed her to glimpse his past. Understanding it could make getting closer to Fenric easier; if she knew his past, earning his trust would be simpler, and having him on her side would help her gain the villagers’ confidence in Rolbart.
Yet she hesitated. Moony was still injured by the tea, and she didn’t want to risk her again—not for something she hadn’t completely mastered.
“Fenric, are you okay?”
“Mo… Mother…” Fenric whispered. The words came like a dry twig snapping. “Forgive me…”
Vierna regretted letting the deer escape, yet this was an opportunity she couldn’t miss. She stayed beside Fenric, saying nothing, gently brushing his back in slow, steady strokes.
“Shhh… it’s okay, Fenric… it’s okay…”
“I… I’m a… monster.”
“You’re not, Fenric. Calm down.”
Fenric didn’t look at her; his gaze stayed fixed on the dirt.
‘What’s wrong with this guy?’ Moony asked.
I don’t know—and right now I’m dying not to ask him. But this… this is something we can use later.
It went on for a few minutes. Finally, Fenric’s body stopped shivering; his eyes began to focus again.
“I’m sorry, Vierna. I messed up.”
“It’s okay, Fenric. How about we go home now? You look like you need to rest.”
“But… the meat. Tomorrow the village will run out.”
“Well, it’s getting dark, Fenric,” Vierna said. “Even if we keep hunting, we won’t catch anything.”
Fenric blinked, still dazed. “But…”
“It’s fine,” she said softly, brushing dirt from his sleeve. “We’ll go again tomorrow. Just breathe for now.”
Fenric hesitated. The thought that his blunder might endanger the village’s food supply made him clench his fists in frustration. Yet, seeing the truth in Vierna’s reasoning, he gave a small nod. Still, he didn’t stand. He just sat there, silent and heavy with thought. Vierna stayed beside him, not wanting to push him further.
“I’m a trash, aren’t I?” he said, the words coming out like a man punishing himself for something he couldn’t control. It reminded Vierna of herself—fragile, trying to make sense of herself through guilt.
Vierna sighed softly. “No, you’re not, Fenric. You are just gentle. I remembered when I first hunt I also vomited at the thought of shooting a life animal.”
“But now the village will starve.”
“We still have the small game, right? We can make soup out of it and share it with everyone. And there’s still some meat left in the granary. We’ll manage for a day. Tomorrow, we’ll bring more. So get yourself together.”
Fenric looked at Vierna, his gaze locking onto hers. His eyes were dark—frustrated by his own uselessness and something else he couldn’t name. “Thanks, Vierna… you’re a kind girl.”
Vierna smiled and sat beside him.
Finally, Fenric’s breathing steadied, but Vierna could see that the weight of the moment still clung to him. His fur was matted around his neck, his face pale beneath its golden tones. The wild gleam that once burned in his eyes was gone, replaced by exhaustion and a hollow quiet. He sat hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the dirt as if it might give him answers. His tail barely moved, lying limp against the ground.
He looked smaller now, deflated—like someone who had run too far from something inside himself and finally realized it would always catch up.
“Come on, lets go home.”
“All right. And Vierna, please don’t tell anyone in the village.”
“Tell them what? We snapped a twig and the deer run that’s what happened.”
Fenric smiled. “You’re the best Vierna.”
They walked back toward Rolbart. The hunt hadn’t been much of a success, and yet Vierna felt it hadn’t been a loss either. She’d gained something far more useful—a foothold in Fenric’s trust. For now, that was enough.
‘Vierna… I sense something.’
What is it, Moony?
‘I don’t know. VIERNA… BEHIND US!’
What did Moony felt?
