Marked by the Moon Tyrant

The forest was silver with early dawn when I finally allowed myself to stop. The air held that familiar bite of cold, the kind that settles deep into your bones and makes every breath sharper than the last. I found a shallow hollow between two fallen trees, their roots twisting like knotty fingers above me. It wasn't much, but the branches overhead kept the worst of the wind away.

I curled into the space and drifted into a fitful sleep.

It didn't last long.

Something woke me-a shift in the air, a faint prickle against the back of my neck, like being watched from just outside a dream. My eyes flew open.

The forest was still.

Quiet.

Gray light filtering through broken branches.

For a moment, I thought I'd imagined it.

Then my breath caught.

Something was different.

Wrong.

I crawled out from between the trees, pushing aside damp leaves-then froze so suddenly my heart nearly burst out of my chest.

Footprints.

Fresh, clear footprints pressed into the thin layer of morning dew.

Not mine.

Not animal.

Human.

Barefoot.

My pulse leapt painfully as I knelt beside the closest print. It was small-smaller than mine. The toes spread unevenly, as if the person walked with caution... or fear.

The dew on the edges hadn't evaporated yet.

Whoever left these prints passed by less than an hour ago.

Right by where I slept.

Right beside me.

My hands trembled as I touched the cold earth around the track. The print pointed away from me-toward the deeper forest.

Someone had come close.

Very close.

And left without waking me.

Why hadn't they approached?

Why leave without disturbing anything?

My throat tightened.

I replayed the moment I'd first woken-the faint sensation of being watched, the prickle on my neck. It hadn't been a dream.

Someone had been here.

Someone had stood close enough to touch me.

The forest suddenly felt too open, too quiet, too aware.

I backed away from the prints, scanning the trees. The branches overhead creaked in the light breeze. A raven called distantly, its cry echoing through the valley like a warning.

Footprints in the dew.

Not the large, heavy tracks of a grown man.

Not the loud, stomping prints of a rider's boot.

Not the delicate trace of a woman.

A child.

My mind flashed to the boy I'd glimpsed near the stream the other day-the one with wild hair and bare feet. But he would've had to follow me far, too far, deep into a valley no child should know how to navigate.

And even if he had... why track me?

Why come close?

Why run away without a word?

My skin prickled cold.

There was only one answer that made any sense:

The child wasn't alone.

Someone older-someone dangerous-had sent him. Or watched him. Or lived here with him.

And they knew now that someone else was in their territory.

I rose slowly, keeping my breathing tight and controlled. I needed to leave. Immediately. I gathered the berry pouch, checked my walking stick, and slipped into the shadows of the trees.

Every step felt heavier than the last.

Every sound sharper.

I moved silently, placing my feet where the ground was firm, avoiding twigs and brittle leaves. But even as I distanced myself from the footprints, the unease stayed coiled inside me.

Someone had found me once.

It could happen again.

My thoughts spun with growing dread.

I couldn't outrun Draven. Not forever.

I couldn't outsmart whoever lived in the valley unless I knew who they were.

I couldn't trust the forest when it was full of eyes.

I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder. Instead, I focused on the path ahead. The forest thickened into a maze of roots and moss, the canopy blotting out most of the early light.

As I moved, I found something that tightened my chest even more.

Another footprint.

Smaller. Smeared, as if the child had stumbled.

Fresh.

Then another, deeper one-larger than the first.

Not a child.

An adult.

My blood ran ice-cold.

Two sets of tracks.

Two people.

And they were following the same path... not far from me.

I crouched behind a fallen tree, heart slamming so hard it hurt.

I strained my ears.

Listened.

Waited.

A distant sound floated through the forest: the faint snap of a twig. Not close. Not dangerously near.

But close enough to know I wasn't imagining this.

Someone was moving parallel to me.

Shadowing.

Watching.

I crouched lower, pressing a hand to my chest. My heartbeat felt too loud. Too fast. Like the strangers could hear it if they were close enough.

For several long minutes, I stayed perfectly still. A cold breeze swept past, brushing the hair on my arms. The smell of damp leaves filled my nose. A bird flew overhead, its wings beating softly.

Finally, the forest settled again.

I didn't wait another second.

I moved fast, pushing deeper into the western slope of the valley-the rougher side, where the trees grew in thick clusters and the ground rose unevenly.

Every step echoed with one relentless truth:

I wasn't alone here.

Someone else walked these mountains barefoot.

Someone else moved quietly enough to get near without waking me.

Someone else had their own reasons for hiding here.

Reasons I didn't want to discover.

I needed to relocate.

Find higher ground.

Stay hidden for real this time.

Because whoever had left those footprints...

They weren't searching blindly.

They knew exactly where to look.