The air was heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and strange herbs as someone stepped through the dense forest. Shadows loomed across the undergrowth, cast by the twisted branches overhead that barely allowed the moon's light to penetrate.
His boots crunched softly on the fallen leaves, yet the sound seemed absorbed by the oppressive silence of the witches' territory. Every step felt watched, every breath weighed with the knowledge that eyes, unseen, followed his every move.
He knew better than to disturb the balance here. He carried no torch, no flame to ward off the creatures of the night. He was not afraid; fear was a luxury he had long since discarded. Instead, he walked with purpose, his hooded cloak blending him into the mist that curled around his feet like the tendrils of a patient predator.
