Day 3

The sun hung low, veiled by the dense canopy, its light dappled and uneven on the forest floor. Alex crouched in the underbrush, still as the gnarled roots around him. A cluster of clawed tracks marred the damp earth ahead, too fresh to be ignored. He pressed his fingers to the marks, studying their depth. A pack. At least three. Heavy. Moving fast. His eyes lifted to the thick vegetation. The faint rustle of leaves in the distance confirmed what he already knew: he wasn’t alone.

His knuckles ached from the morning’s work—hours of resetting his perimeter traps. The wolves had taken one of his earlier kills, shredding the rope snares he’d painstakingly set. Not this time. They’re getting bolder. Testing me. Fine. Test me.

He shifted, low to the ground, moving through the undergrowth. He’d set a spring trap by the creek earlier, baited with the remnants of the dead. It wasn’t much, but the wolves wouldn’t pass it up. He stayed downwind, his steps purposeful, avoiding the brittle leaves scattered over the forest floor.

Ahead, the clearing came into view. He froze. One of the creatures was already there—massive, its fur bristling, the jagged armour on its shoulders glistening even in the muted light. It sniffed at the bait, muscles rippling under its scarred hide. Its breath steamed in the humid air. Another figure loomed just behind, shifting restlessly. A third prowled the tree line, head low, ears twitching. Too close to the trap. Let them move.

Intent on reducing their numbers, he waited, his form unnervingly still in the green, upwind and unseen.

***

Alex crouched low beneath the thick canopy of tangled vines, every movement deliberate. The forest around him pulsed with sounds he couldn't afford to ignore. His body, tense and lean from days of constant movement, aligned perfectly with the crouched posture of a predator. The weight of his sword rested against his thigh, a quiet reassurance. He shifted forward, his fingers brushing against the ground as he scanned for tracks.

A clawed imprint pressed deep into the soft earth. The edges still held form—fresh. His thoughts sharpened. Close. Too close. Tracks are still fresh. It’s not far from here.

I should double-check the snare tension. Last time, it slipped, and I lost a whole day of work. If I circle around the clearing, I can approach without being seen.

He moved, rising just enough to navigate the uneven jungle floor. Each step fell in silence, his boots muffled against the damp decay of leaves. The foliage ahead trembled briefly, signalling motion. He slowed, muscles taut. His gaze found the distant glimmer of fur through the foliage, grey and streaked with black. The creature—one of the horned wolves—stalked near a cluster of exposed roots. Its nostrils flared, catching a scent Alex hoped was the bait he had laid two hours earlier. Grandpa would have laughed at me for wasting time on that trap. He’d say, ‘Why hunt when you can outsmart?’ A smile broke through the roughness of his circumstances, unbidden. He thought of his sister, next, as he eyed his quarry, his body settling into a familiar position, one he'd held hundreds of times. She always outpaced me when we tracked together. 'Bet she’d call me slow even now.

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The wolf lowered its head to investigate. The faintest twitch ran through its ears. Alex slid his foot back, shifting his balance. The subtle motion triggered the trap. A pit opened beneath the beast, earth swallowing its weight. A muffled yelp ended in a wet crunch as sharpened stakes tore through fur and flesh.

He approached cautiously, sword drawn. Blood seeped into the soil, pooling around the edges of the trap. The wolf's breath wheezed out in uneven gasps, its eyes flicking weakly in his direction. Alex stepped to the edge, staring down into the pit. The weight of the moment sank into him. He lifted his blade, bracing his arm. One clean strike ended the sound.

For a moment, there was stillness. He felt it in the pit of his stomach, a hollow space carved by necessity. His grip tightened on the hilt, but he loosened it just as quickly. No use in lingering. Move.

He dropped into the pit, careful of the blood-slicked stakes, and began working quickly. The claws were sharp, the fur thick—a sign of resilience in these beasts. He cut with precision, taking what he needed: teeth, claws, and strips of sinewy hide. These had value, both as tools and as potential bartering goods if he encountered others.

Climbing out of the pit, he paused to smear fresh mud across his skin. The scent masked his own, a small edge against the pack that would surely come searching. He scanned the area, his eyes narrowing in focus. The jungle stretched before him in layers of green, broken by jagged cliffs in the distance. The mountain loomed, its peak hidden by dense clouds. Not yet. Too far.

***

By the time the sun dipped lower, he had reached another makeshift camp—a small ledge overlooking a narrow gorge. Navigating through the underbrush, he moved toward higher ground. A sturdy branch extended from a massive tree, offering a vantage point. With a focused breath, he activated 'Phoenix Leap,' propelling himself downward with graceful ease. The world blurred momentarily before he landed silently on the earthen ground, grateful for the skill's versatility. No fire tonight. Smoke drew eyes, and eyes brought more wolves, more wolfmen, or worse. He'd killed plenty, but that seemed to just cause them to send more coming his way. It was baffling. The wolves were multiplying, their tracks spreading wider each day, their howls louder at night. It was no accident. Something had drawn them here, and if they kept coming, it wouldn’t be long before the forest floor was theirs entirely.

Instead, he crouched by a thin stream trickling between the stones. He reached into the water, letting it flow over his hands. The cool pressure steadied his breathing.

He drew his blade again, pressing it into the wolf’s body. The work of stripping the meat from bone took time, but he did it in silence. Strips of flesh hung neatly from nearby branches by the time the first stars appeared.

The knife lingered in his hand, clean now, catching faint starlight.

His thoughts drifted back to his sister. She was always faster at this part. Better. More patient. No hesitation with the blade. He paused. You’d probably tease me for leaving so much behind, wouldn’t you?

He imagined what it would have been like if the three of them had been stranded in the forest instead of just him and stifled a laugh.

If that had been the case, within a month, he doubted there would have been a single monstrous creature left alive.