The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving only a twilight haze that draped the forest like a shroud.
The trees, ancient sentinels whose gnarled branches twisted toward the heavens, whispered in the cold night wind.
Their silhouettes were faint against the thick, swirling mist that choked the ground, a fog so dense that even the faintest ray of moonlight struggled to pierce it.
Rylis Swiftclaw moved through the mist as though he were part of it, blending seamlessly into the shadowed world around him.
His fur, a blend of black and blue, rippled with each calculated step, his long, fox-like tail swishing silently behind him.
His ears twitched at every sound, the subtle crack of a branch, the rustle of leaves, the shift of breath on the wind, and his eyes, deep pools of amber, cut through the mist with predatory focus.
His claws, sharp as daggers and as flexible as the wind itself, flexed with anticipation.
