The moon hung low in the sky, its pale glow casting long, wavering shadows across the edge of the forest. The stranger's boots crunched softly on the dry leaves as he ventured deeper into the woods. His cloak billowed faintly in the night breeze, and his eyes scanned the thick trees with purpose.
In his hand, he held a small compass, but the needle seemed to spin wildly, as if confused by its surroundings. Frustrated, he tucked it back into his coat and pressed forward.
The deeper he went, the quieter the forest became. Even the usual nocturnal creatures seemed to avoid this part of the woods. He paused, his sharp ears catching a faint rustling nearby.
"Who's there?" he called out, his voice steady but low.
No answer came, but the rustling stopped. He exhaled slowly and kept walking, his footsteps measured and deliberate. Unbeknownst to him, he was being watched.
Back in Beighthaven, Aurora sat cross-legged on her bed, her brows furrowed as she stared at the journal Granny Elle had gifted her earlier that day. It was old, the leather cover cracked with age, and its pages smelled faintly of herbs.
"Write down what you notice, little one," Granny Elle had told her with a knowing smile. "You have sharp eyes. It will serve you well someday."
Aurora opened the journal to the first page and hesitated. What should she write about? The town? The stranger? The curious way Granny Elle seemed to know things no one else did?
She glanced at the window. The forest loomed just beyond the rooftops, its dark expanse both frightening and inviting. She decided to write about the woods.
The stranger reached a clearing and stopped abruptly. In the center stood a solitary tree, gnarled and ancient, its branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. At its base was a shallow pool of water, its surface reflecting the moonlight like a silver mirror.
He crouched by the pool, his fingers brushing against the cold water. His expression softened for a moment, almost as if in reverence, before hardening again. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small vial.
"This will do," he muttered, filling the vial with water.
As he stood, a sudden gust of wind rustled the trees around him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he instinctively reached for the hilt of the dagger at his side.
A low growl echoed through the clearing.
The stranger turned sharply, his eyes scanning the darkness. The growl came again, closer this time. He tightened his grip on the dagger and took a step back toward the tree.
A pair of glowing eyes appeared in the shadows, followed by another—and another.
Wolves.
The stranger cursed under his breath. He had been so focused on his task that he hadn't noticed the pack circling him.
One of the wolves stepped into the moonlight, its silver fur glinting eerily. It bared its teeth, and the others followed suit, growling low and menacingly.
In her room, Aurora jolted upright, her heart pounding. She had been drifting off to sleep when a strange sensation washed over her—a mix of fear and urgency. She looked toward the window, half-expecting to see something staring back at her, but there was nothing there.
Quietly, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed to her parents' room. "Mama?" she whispered, knocking softly.
Lila opened the door, her expression sleepy but concerned. "Aurora? What's wrong?"
"I don't know," Aurora said, fidgeting with the hem of her nightgown. "I just... I feel like something bad is happening."
Lila knelt to her daughter's level and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's just a dream, sweetheart. Go back to bed."
Aurora nodded reluctantly, but as she climbed back into bed, the feeling lingered.
The stranger crouched low, his dagger gleaming in the moonlight. The wolves growled, inching closer, their eyes fixed on their prey.
Just as the first wolf lunged, a sharp whistle cut through the air. The pack froze, their ears perking up in unison. Another whistle followed, and this time, the wolves backed away, retreating into the shadows with reluctant growls.
The stranger looked around, confused.
A figure stepped into the clearing—a tall, wiry man with a rough beard and a walking stick. He wore a tattered cloak and carried a satchel slung over one shoulder.
"Don't see many folks brave enough to wander these woods at night," the man said, his voice gruff but not unfriendly.
The stranger straightened, his dagger still in hand. "Who are you?"
"Just a wanderer, same as you," the man replied, gesturing for him to lower the weapon. "You're lucky I showed up when I did. Those wolves don't usually spare their dinner."
The stranger hesitated before lowering the dagger. "Thanks... I suppose."
The man chuckled. "Don't mention it. Name's Elias. What brings you to these parts?"
"That's none of your concern," the stranger said curtly, slipping the vial into his coat.
Elias raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. "Suit yourself. If you're heading back to town, I'd suggest you stick close. The woods aren't safe, even for someone like you."
With that, Elias turned and walked away, leaving the stranger to ponder his next move.