The morning was unnaturally still, the kind of silence that pressed down on the clearing like a held breath. The clearing was an unsettling quiet that made every step on the dew-laden grass seem louder than it should.
Taryn crouched near the edge of the clearing, her sharp eyes tracing faint claw marks gouged into the bark of a tree. The lines were irregular but deep enough to suggest something with strength—and intent. Nearby, the grass lay trampled in uneven patches, as if something had moved deliberately along the edge of their perimeter.
Kah'el knelt beside her, scanning the marks with a furrowed brow. He ran a calloused hand along the grooves, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Could be wild animals," he muttered, though the hesitation in his tone betrayed his doubt.
