The team left the rest point, heading north in search of the next rest area, moving as silently as possible. The forest seemed to close in around them, the thick canopy blocking out the waning sunlight and casting everything in a cool, dark twilight. They knew the settlement was still five days away, and the journey ahead was fraught with danger. As they navigated through the dense undergrowth, the oppressive silence was broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or snap of a twig. Each sound seemed amplified in the stillness, a stark reminder of the predator lurking in the shadows.

Even though they couldn't see the Fern Panther, its presence could be felt; its heavy gaze from within the dark as it stalked them was the only thing letting them know that it was out there.

Ben: Hey, Mr Major, I have a question for you. Why can we feel the pressures and presence of the stalking panther? How is it that the feeling is being transferred not just to me but to all of us? Intent, pheromones, whatever it is, how can we feel it? Sense it? What part of the body or mind is required for that kind of awareness? Have you guys ever experienced this on the battlefield or in training?

Mr Major responded in a hushed tone, his voice steady but tinged with tension. "It's a combination of things, Ben. In the field, we learn to rely on our instincts. Our bodies pick up on subtle cues—changes in the air, shifts in light, even the faintest sounds. Our minds interpret these signals as danger. It's primal, really. Our ancestors needed these skills to survive, and they've been passed down through generations. However, a lot of people over the generations have lost their natural active skills since they had no need to rely on them as living became safer. Those survival genetics were locked away within each and every one of us.

In training, we call that skill situational awareness. On the battlefield, it can mean the difference between life and death. An instinct to wait, an instinct to move. Science says we have many instincts. Some people say the primal instincts are fighting, fleeing, feeding and fucking. While these are important, human instincts now rely on the collective effort of the senses. The brain is the fastest known computer and performs many functions subconsciously that we are unaware of; let's call it an awareness limiter. Among animals, this limiter doesn't exist. However, we humans only need access to limited information for day-to-day survival.

Now, science is known for saying that there are five senses: taste, smell, vision, hearing, and touch, but they don't talk about the other two senses.

The first is proprioception, which allows a person to keep track of where their body parts are in space, and the second is social cognition, which is how a person understands and navigates the social world. It encompasses how individuals perceive, interpret, and respond to the intentions, behaviours, and emotions of others.

Timmon, who had been walking slightly ahead, chimed in softly, "It's not just humans either. Animals sense fear and intent. The Fern Panther might be releasing pheromones, or maybe its movements are triggering our survival instincts. It said that the reason we humans know fear and also fear the dark is due to the big cats our ancestors had to deal with. Cats were the monsters in the dark; cats were the embodiment of evil, of pain, of torture, of death. If there is a connection that can be felt by any other life-form through instincts, then cats and humans are solely compatible; one is always destined to be the prey and the other the predator. When it comes to wolves and big cats, there is only one animal that strikes true fear, one that can rob you of hope and happiness.

Ben: For a muscle head, Mr Major, you're really something else. Do you know that? We're on the verge of unlocking our survival instinct. I've never felt this close to nature in my life, not even when I went to camp with my husband. Every encounter I've survived with you guys, I can feel that primal human tensing just below the skin, trying to get out.

From my work with animals, since we're on the topic of senses, some animals have electroreception, magneto-reception, infrared, ultraviolet, echolocation, pressure detection, hydrodynamic reception, and polarized light detection. Out of curiosity, how do you think those senses would impact the instincts we have as humans?

Mr Major: "Those specialized senses in animals are incredible, Ben. If humans had them, our situational awareness would be vastly enhanced. Imagine detecting electric fields like sharks or navigating using the Earth's magnetic field like birds. We could sense others' presence, find our way without tools, and see heat signatures in the dark.

Abilities like echolocation would improve our spatial awareness, and pressure detection could enhance our underwater navigation. Polarized light detection would help us see better by reducing glare. While we rely on technology to mimic these abilities, having them naturally would make us far more attuned to our surroundings and significantly boost our survival instincts."

Ben nodded, absorbing Mr Majors' words while casting wary glances into the forest's depths. The night air felt thick, with a chill that felt like worry on his bones, yet each member of the team moved with deliberate caution. They didn't train for scenarios like this, but knowing there was a predator on their trail made every sound amplify, every shadow stretches with ominous potential, every instinct a reminder that there might be a way.

"Okay, okay, let's keep the talking down," Timmon whispered, his voice barely louder than a breath. "I know it's helping to take our minds off of the dangers around us, but we don't want to be heard by animals that don't have limiters like we do. Stay alert, and remember, our goal is to reach the settlement. Stick together, no sudden movements."

As they pressed on, the forest's darkness now fully enveloped them. The canopy above blocked out most of the moonlight, and the silence was almost oppressive. Ben's mind raced with thoughts of the Fern Panther, its predatory grace and how it seemed to blend so perfectly with their surroundings. He knew they couldn't afford to make any mistakes. One wrong step could alert the creature and trigger an attack they weren't prepared to fend off.

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They moved as a unit, each step synchronized and every rustle of leaves scrutinized. Watching as light bugs began to flutter through the forest, Ben couldn't shake the feeling that the Fern Panther was more intelligent than any beast they had encountered before. It was as if the predator was not just stalking them but studying them, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The wolves were smart, but they were pack animals. They were only as smart as the leader of the pack and only followed the command, and hunting use seemed to not be a priority to them yet.

As they navigated through the thick undergrowth, Mr Major's words echoed in Ben's mind. Situational awareness, instincts, the primal dance of predator and prey. They had to trust their senses, trust each other, and above all, keep moving. The settlement was still five days away, and with every passing moment, the forest grew darker and more treacherous.

After hours of walking, they heard a low growl followed by hissing from above.

Afraid to talk, their minds spun as they used their defensive triangle weapons, which were at the ready to deter the enemy.

Oh my goodness, cats are synonymous with climbing trees. Why didn't that cross my mind sooner, Ben thought as he looked up into the darkness. From experience, Ben knew that one perception can change at a certain height among the canopy. For him, when he recalled looking down, there was a magnifying effect of silhouettes, and the light at a certain height was brighter than the light that made it to the forest floor itself. Travelling at that height could make navigating at night easier, offering a clearer view and a possible advantage against ground-based threats.

But the knowledge that the Fern Panther could be above them, blending seamlessly into the foliage, added an impossible weight to his chest. He tried to control his breathing, each inhale feeling like a struggle against the thick, humid air. If the panther was lurking above, they would be even more vulnerable than on the ground.

Ben halted the group with a silent hand signal, his eyes scanning the trees above. "We need to move quietly and keep our senses sharp," he whispered. "Stay close and watch the canopy. If we can find a way to climb safely, it might give us an edge. But we have to be sure the panther isn't waiting for us up there."

Timmon: Climb what? Are you mad? Keep it simple, stupid. Ground. Walk. Slowly. Defend. Survive. That is all we are doing; if we die, we die. That's just how our luck is supposed to work. We can't trust or rely on our human instincts until they are adjusted to our new awareness, so in the meantime, listen to your gut feeling and your survival instincts. If climbing was your logical move, then you're broken. We can't see our surroundings, and we are more likely to fall and get hurt or die. We have weapons and baskets of fruit on our backs. We can't afford to do any of that climbing shit.

Mr Major, how many hours have passed? When is our next rest time?

Mr Major: "It's been about four hours since we left the rest point. We're due for a break in another two hours; stopping every three hours would be a hassle," he replied, his voice low but firm. "Timmon's right, Ben. Climbing might not be the best option right now. We're loaded with gear and already at a disadvantage with visibility. Let's focus on steady progress on the ground and keeping our defences ready."

Ben nodded, though a part of him still clung to the idea of gaining a higher vantage point. He couldn't deny the logic in Timmon's words, especially when survival hinged on practical decisions. The team resumed their careful march, each member hyper-aware of the forest around them. The sounds of the night seemed to grow louder, every chirp and rustle amplifying the tension.

Then suddenly, there was a loud crash just ahead of them. The silhouette of a beast, accompanied by a unique sound—like a crocodile's vibrating hiss mixed with the cry of a young fox—sent a shiver down their spines. It was the Fern Panther. It had jumped from the tree above, landing just in front of them, landing with an eerie grace that seemed to defy its size.

Ben froze, his heart pounding in his chest. The beast's emerald eyes glowed in the darkness, locking onto the team with a predatory intensity. Every muscle in their bodies tensed, weapons gripped tightly, but they knew that attacking or fleeing would only hasten their doom.

"Stay calm," Ben whispered, barely audible. "No sudden moves. We need to back away slowly."

The team began to retreat, inch by inch, their eyes never leaving the panther. The creature watched them with an almost intelligent curiosity as if weighing its options. Each step felt like an eternity, the tension in the air so thick it was almost suffocating.

In the dim light, Ben could see the panther's fur bristle, its muscles coiling in readiness. They were trapped, one wrong move away from triggering an attack. The forest, once a maze of shadows, now felt like a prison, with the Fern Panther as its warden.

Mr Major's voice was a steady anchor in the chaos. "Keep your daggers close and your spears ready. If you can see, feel, or sense an attack coming that you can't stop with your weapons and muscles, turn and use the basket to dampen the blow and use it to recover and counterattack. But attacking or running is not an option."

The team tightened their formation, their weapons at the ready. The Fern Panther's eyes gleamed with a predatory light, its body poised to strike. Ben could feel the sweat trickling down his back, each second stretching into an eternity.

Timmon, gripping his spear tightly, whispered, "Stay calm, and we'll get through this."

The panther shifted, its muscles rippling under its fern-like fur, and for a moment, Ben thought it might spring. But then, the creature hesitated, perhaps sensing the united front of the team. It paced back and forth, its eyes never leaving them, as if trying to decide whether the prey before it was worth the risk.

Ben took a slow, deliberate step back, his eyes locked with the panther's. "Easy now," he murmured, "just keep moving back, nice and slow."

The team followed his lead, retreating step by step, their movements synchronized and cautious. The panther's tail flicked in agitation, but it made no move to close the distance. They were in a standoff, each side waiting for the other to make the first move.

Mr Major's warning came too late as he replied in kind, throwing a dagger toward it. The Fern Panther shook its body, its fur expanding to make it look even more imposing. "Look out!" Mr Major screamed as he threw himself between Ben and the cat, taking the brunt of the attack. The panther's paw smashed into the basket of fruit, sending a sticky splash of juice into the air and flinging both Ben and Mr Major into the bushes.

The air was sweet with the scent of crushed fruit, but the atmosphere reeked of danger. The panther, undeterred, was already targeting its next prey. Its left paw lashed out with terrifying speed.

"Ben, get up! We need to help Timmon! He's on his own!" Mr Major's voice was urgent, filled with pain but also determination.

Ben scrambled to his feet, disoriented but driven by the need to find his friend. "Where is he?"

The panther, sensing another opportunity after tossing Timmon into the air, looked up and leapt into the air, swatting at something mid-flight. There was a loud bang as whatever it struck crashed to the ground.

Ben's heart pounded as he tried to locate Timmon. He saw the panther land with deadly grace where the loud bang was, its eyes locked on a figure struggling on the forest floor. "Timmon!" Ben shouted, rushing forward with his dagger in hand.