GAR
As night fell over the WildWood and the nightbirds finished their calling, Gar paced the dirt inside the front line they'd created—camouflaged ditches dug in a half-round that would allow human soldiers to enter the trees and find themselves surrounded.
Tree branches and undergrowth positioned to hide guards. Pit traps where the leaf-strewn ground would give way underfoot—the hollow, damp dirt detectable to the Anima nose, but hopefully not to the human tech.
The humans hadn't moved all day, but the masking hadn't fallen either, and Gar was growing tenser every minute. As darkness fell and the camp went quiet, waiting, he couldn't standstill.
