Don’t speak to me of fear, boy. You can exhort my men until the swallows lie still and yet not a one will follow you. My people have long memories, and we still sing of when the giants last marched to war.

This very river we now sit beside froze, stopped in time until their rumbling steps passed us by. The Panyera hasn’t stopped flowing since before the Hasta walked this earth, and yet it did that day. The cliffs shook with their throat-song, and the mammoths stilled in their migrations. You may think the world hangs in the balance, but I tell you this clearly and without malice: it does not.

If Tsanderos can survive the giants marching to war, unified under a single banner, then it can survive the politicking of your tiny kingdoms. Your world may hinge on the outcome of this or that campaign, but ours does not. I will not send my men and women to their deaths for your world when you continue to encroach upon ours.

Your armies are indeed mighty and so I will not contest your presence, but I do not give you my blessing to walk these lands. The giants will measure you as they see fit and they abide no untruths. If you hear thunder from the east but see no clouds, then speak no more lies until you have left these lands.

Excerpt from the oral history of the Loquintha tribe – ‘the Matriarch speaks’ as recorded by Scribe Juven Al‘Samise

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I crouched in the hollow I had found at the base of the cliff. The ridge rose above me, its warm embrace sheltering me from the savage wind swirling above and the dark stone absorbing the sun to warm my back. I was biding my time, patient as a hawk awaiting my prey.

The horn was lodged into a deep crack running down a large section of the rock below me. I was careful to keep my feet and centre of mass on my side of the crack, not willing to put any weight further out on the outcropping.

I was only a couple of meters off the floor the steep scree slope below, and it had taken a lot of careful inching to get myself down the cliff face above me without slipping. I’d had to hug my chest to the rock unable to look behind without unbalancing myself. It wasn’t until I was only a few meters above my current perch that I found a suitably stable combination of foot and hand hold that I dared crane my neck around.

I had fully expected to be met by the unnatural gazes of a dozen hungry wolves, but thankfully my terror was unfounded – I’d apparently made it down the cliff without being spotted. This was by no means the first large overhang I had inspected, but after hours of searching intently, looking for fault lines and focusing hard on my Simple Traps skill, I had identified this ledge as incredibly weak – ready to fall at a moment’s notice.

It was a wonder it had held on as long as it had, but then I supposed that rocks fell near constantly in the mountains and you’d have to be there in the right place at some point. Scrambling had even helped confirm my other skill’s information, giving me a brief warning not to stand on the ledge before me.

I had debated trying to draw the attention of the wolves directly, but that seemed likely to backfire, making them weary in their approach. No, I just needed to be patient, to wait for one or two to skirt this section of ridgeline. I had seen them running back and forwards as I hiked ever onwards, and a small goat-track ran directly below this ledge, so I knew it was only a matter of time.

It wasn’t until I was set up and waiting that I realised how tedious this was going to be. I only had a short view down the track before it curved out of site, so I would need to be ready. Success would be determined by timing, and I couldn’t afford to waste this opportunity, as it would likely not present itself again.

Keeping my mind on the task at hand and preventing my eyes from wandering around the beautiful view in front of me was difficult, almost more than I could take. I had spent so much time in such a highly strung state of fight or flight in the last day that my body hadn’t had the chance to properly regulate itself, to return to a state of tranquillity and balance. Preventing myself from giving into the urge to relax and let my mind drift where it pleased was more of a strain than the entire hours long run from the wolves the day before.

Somehow, I managed it, and so when the two long-necked wolves trotted around the corner on the track below, I didn’t flinch or hesitate or miss them entirely. I had them in sight and waited with a patience I had never before possessed. A ringing in my head was pushed aside, and all my focus was on my Simple Traps skill to feed me the perfect moment to act.

When it came, I threw as much weight against the horn I’d propped into the crack earlier as I could without completely overbalancing. I felt a brief eternity of resistance, before suddenly it vanished. I windmilled my arm, barely managing to keep my left hand gripping the handhold while trying in vain to snatch the horn from the air with my right before it tumbled after the ledge.

Said ledge that now had fallen away so completely that the tips of my boots protruded over the edge of the now much thinner ledge I stood on. It had happened too fast for me to take in, but the outcome was obvious to anything with eyes and ears. A crescendo of grinding, crashing stone and a plume of dust rising into the air was all that could be seen of the path below.

I stayed still, watching for a few moments as the massive boulder – for that is what the former ledge now was, completely disconnected from the cliff it had previously been a part of for untold millennia – rolled down the scree slope before resting at the bottom as it mellowed out. More ringing in my head had accompanied the initial crash of the ledge and I focused on the notifications long enough to confirm the death of the two wolves.

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I descended the last few meters to the now mangled path on shaky legs. The several hours standing in one position waiting patiently had left my legs unusually unresponsive, and the adrenaline and hunger weren’t helping me keep steady.

Once I made it to the ground, I moved over the churned grass and dirt as quickly as was safe, skirting larger sections of rock dislodged from the cliff by the ledge’s rapid descent. I came to the crushed corpses of the two wolves, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Blood stained the grass below them, and I could see slivers of bone and organs throughout their hindquarters. It appeared the ledge had landed flat on their backs as they ran, hopefully killing them instantly.

I drew my knife and set to collecting what I could from the corpses, harvesting only cuts of meat that weren’t pulverised by falling rock – I had no desire to go through all this to die choking on a bone shard after all.

I knew I was on a timer, and so focused on separating the large portions for ease of carrying. I wrapped them up in my cloak, deciding the blood and smell of raw meat was better than going hungry, and bound it together with my vine-belt.

I scarpered back up the slope and threw my spoils onto the now much thinner ledge I had waited on for so long. I spent a few desperate moments casting about on the ground for any sign of my much-loved horn before finally catching a glimpse of it hiding in the freshly turned scree. A few unsuccessful attempts at throwing that onto the ledge passed before I just clamped my teeth around it and carried it in my mouth as I climbed. If it worked for pirates, it's good enough for me.

I climbed back up the cliff, carefully it should be noted, and managed to make it in one piece with only a badly bruised lip from slamming the horn against the rock by accident while trying to turn my head too quickly.

Once I reached the clifftop and found myself a nice, sheltered spot underneath a prominent lip, I unwrapped my spoils and set about seriously butchering a generous portion of meat. The first few days of eating unseasoned badly cooked meat had been difficult, but I was a better campfire cook now, and I no longer craved salt to the same degree.

It pained me to admit that I had tried to collect salt from my own face after a long run in the sun one afternoon and use that to flavour the meat, but my wounded pride had managed to assert enough control over me as I scraped at my sweat-slick face that I had abandoned the idea before going through with it. The problem I currently had was that I had nothing to create a fire with – no kindling or wood of any kind up here. A few wisps of grass but there wasn’t enough for anything approaching a sustainable burn.

Knuckling down, I cut a small, very thin strip from the portion of meat before wrapping it around the fire-lighting rune stone. I focused on it, willing it to activate and feeling the same trickle of something leave my body as when I focused on my Hill Foraging skill. It was almost unnoticeable, but I had spent long evenings playing around with the rune stone after eating while my mind refused to rest, and I was starting to build up a burgeoning sense for how this new magic – for clearly this was a magical world with everything I had seen – worked.

After my Meat Preparation skill informed me that enough time had passed – and I was getting better at judging it for myself based on the colour, texture and even smell – I removed the sizzling slice of wolf meat and popped it into my mouth. Savouring the taste, I looked out over the valley below me and sighed.

Damn this is good, I love winning. There was something so ineffably satisfying about giving all you had towards a goal and achieving it almost exactly as you hoped for. I gave my attention to the notifications I had received during the short ambush now that my immediate needs of safety and food were met.

Skill gained – Stalking. Open skill slots available, skill integrated.

Skill ‘Simple Traps’ has increased in level. Simple Traps – level 4.

You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 12). Experience gained.

You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 11). Experience gained.

You have reached level 15. Attributes available for allocation.

Stalking – Active. You have experience stalking prey from a distance, and you have shown the ability to lie still for hours on end, letting the eyes of your prey flit over your body without notice. Activation of this skill will suppress the natural movements and noises your body produces, enabling you to hide your presence from unsuspecting prey. Further levels will also guide your positioning and foot placement on approach until you are as silent as a true predator.

Current skills:

Sure-footed: Level 5. Passive.

Running: Level 5. Passive.

Meat preparation: Level 3. Active.

Hill foraging: Level 4. Active.

Simple Traps: Level 4. Passive.

Improvised Weapons: Level 3. Passive.

Scrambling: Level 3. Passive.

Stalking: Level 1. Active.

All 8 of my skill slots were now filled and I had finally reached level 15, but I received no further prompts. That rankled, as I had expected something more significant from this achievement given Jorge’s suggestion that it was a significant milestone, but perhaps I’d missed something.

Maybe I had to progress past level 15 rather than just reach it? The problem was that I wasn’t convinced my ambush today could be repeated, especially once the pack learned of it. The wolves seemed uncannily smart, and I shivered remembering the feeling of almost-understanding I had experienced when watching from atop my cliff as they conversed with one another.

What had he said? Something about hitting level 15, and visualising my progress or skills or something? I put it to the back of my mind while I continued with the lonely task of cooking and eating. One after the other, I ate thin strips of meat, chewing mechanically but trying my best to enjoy the feeling of satiation as I filled my stomach.

I kept hiking as the light waned, searching forlornly for a good place to huddle up for the night. Despite the shelter provided by regular overhangs, it was noticeably colder up on the ridge than it was down in the valley, and while altitude must have played a role, I was fairly sure the trees must have had a huge heat-trapping effect that I now sorely missed. Eventually, as I was considering turning back to a fairly bleak spot I had passed and discarded, I found a shallow cave that would serve as a camp for the night.

I wrapped myself in my stained cloak, laying the meat down in the back of the cave behind me. I wondered if I should place the meat at the front of the cave to make sure an enterprising scavenger would get to it before it got to me, giving me enough warning to potentially save myself. On the other hand, I didn’t want to have my food stolen by anything that wouldn’t 100% kill me.

Hunger and greed warred with fear and anxiety within me, my mind a battleground for their furious and unwitnessed struggle. It was a pyrrhic victory for fear and anxiety, for while they had vanquished their enemy, they had taken too long to do so, and by the time their victory became clear the titanic forces of sleep had arranged themselves on the field. It was a slaughter.