Sylva was waiting by the cave’s entrance when Keke exited. A gentle rain rippled through the [Hunter]’s dark hair, droplets of water flecking the tips of her fur cloak. There was a serene stoicism about her. The same kind of strength Keke had seen in her mother when she was still alive.

  “Were you waiting here the whole time?” Keke asked. She couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but she knew she’d been in the cave for a while.

  Sylva nodded. “I was.” She pushed away from the rocky wall with the heel of her boot and turned toward her, sniffing at the air. “You passed.” Just as Keke was about to speak, Sylva raised her hand and shook her head. “Tell me not of who judged you. It’s a personal journey. One fit for you, and you alone.”

  Keke glanced at the ground, then nodded. “Okay.” She turned the medallion over in her hand. A warmth wrapped around her body. The light that had encompassed the thread was gone, but its presence was still there.

  The wolf was watching her.

  She fought down the urge to jump for joy; to cry. For the first time in years, she felt like her mother was standing beside her again, witnessing her journey just as the wolf did now. She’s still with me, after all.

  “Are you alright?” Sylva asked.

  “Yes.” Keke looked up at Sylva and smiled. “I’ve never felt better.”

  Sylva chuckled. “Glad to hear it.” She flicked her head behind her. “Come with me, and we’ll discuss the task that comes after.”

  “Right.” Keke sped up her pace and walked with Sylva.

  “Do you have any experience in [Alchemy]?” Sylva asked as they began their descent down the mound.

  “I do. My mom and”—she paused as a tinge of hatred swelled in her breast at the thought of Granny Nauka—“an old acquaintance taught me.”

  Sylva hummed. “Good. All [Scout]s looking to become [Hunter]s must pass an exam that will test her knowledge of fauna and tinctures.”

  “What does that look like?” She mostly asked because it sounded like the right answer, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t help but note how soft and wet the ground was. Shards and twigs bunched and buckled under their combined weight, but rarely did they snap. Never had she been somewhere so full of life and yet so quiet.

  “That’ll depend on what the spirit values. Some prefer potent healing herbs, others poisons.”

  “And the spirit will tell me?” She was making an assumption, but it seemed to her that this test was less based on what the [Hunter] believed she should do and more on how the forest viewed her.

  “Yes,” Sylva said as she pointed to a cabin. “Are you hungry?”

  Keke frowned. “Didn’t we just have breakfast?”

  Sylva stopped and blinked. Then she snickered. “You don’t realize how long you were in there, do you?”

  Keke shook her head.

  “Four hours,” Sylva said.

  Keke furrowed her brow. “Is that normal?”

  “Quite. Come. Let’s get something to eat.”

  “Won’t we need to catch and cook it ourselves?” Keke wondered. They’d made it very clear that inns and taverns weren’t available in Khasstead.

  “There’s a gathering hall for those of us who live here,” Sylva said. “We take turns keeping food on the fire. That will be a conversation for later,” she added before Keke could ask.

  Sylva took her to a cabin situated between two identical structures. Another woman walked out as they approached, pausing to offer a curt nod to Sylva. Sylva mimed the gesture, beckoning Keke inside with her.

  “I haven’t seen the others rever you like that,” Keke noted.

  “Because I told them not to. It can feel overbearing,” Sylva said. She patted the surface of a nearby table and took a seat at one end. Keke sat down in the chair across from her. “Your mind is wandering.”

  Keke nodded. “Yes. I’m just thinking about everything I’ve experienced so far.” She drummed her fingers on her thigh, clinging to the sensations that seeped into her inside the cave. “I’m ready to continue. I want to learn more.”

  Sylva smiled. “You sound a lot like Elona.”

  “Please,” Keke said, shaking her head. “Compared to her, I’m just a novice. I have so much to learn.”

  Sylva nodded and motioned someone over from the back. “You’ve only just arrived. Focus instead on what you can do to help. We’re family here. The spirits of the forest will take care of the rest.”

  “Right,” Keke said. She was still trying to comprehend what Sylva meant by the forest’s spirits. It was a noble belief to think that the forest was its own entity—its own consciousness. If she hadn’t looked upon the spirit of the wolf herself, she wasn’t sure she would’ve believed it.

  A woman with white hair and blazing red eyes set two hearty bowls of soup on the table, then quickly spun on her heel and left to tend to a heavy pot dangling from a tripod.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “This smells incredible,” Keke said as she neared closer. Chunks of tender meat and tough vegetables floated in the delicious broth.

  “One of my favorite meals,” Sylva said, smiling. “I usually have it for breakfast before the morning hunt. We keep it simmering for hours.”

  “The morning hunt?”

  “Yes. We create a small hunting Party every morning and locate meals for the days to come.” She pointed her spoon at Keke’s bowl. “The food in your bowl was collected yesterday.”

  “Oh.” She poked and prodded at the soup, feeling stupid for the next question she was about to ask. “Is there a set time I should complete my first task?”

  Sylva set her spoon in the bowl. “That’s between you and the spirit. No one’s pinning you to this spot, so feel free to enter the forest at your leisure.”

  Perhaps after lunch, then. I need to locate this furlocke.

  They ate in silence until they both licked the last drops from their spoons. Sylva pushed her bowl forward and stretched her arms above her head. “So, how do you like it here so far?”

  “I love it,” Keke said. “It takes me back to when my mom was still alive. I used to capture small Encroachers when I was a kitten. I saw how fast and strong my mom was with a bow, and I wanted to be just like her.” She rubbed her thumb along the ridge of her bowl. Elona’s image was just as clear now as it had ever been. “I’d catch Encroachers in boxes and ropes that I made myself and bring them home. My mom would get so angry with me. Some days I wish I could go back. Just for a day.”

  Sylva hummed. “It sounds like you had a wonderful relationship with your mother.”

  “The best.” Keke laughed as she recalled another memory. “Eventually, I got tired of always being scolded and resorted to [Fishing]. She had trouble getting angry at me if I brought home dinner.”

  “I think you’ll find many of us in Khasstead are the same way.” Sylva smiled and withdrew a small pouch from her [Cat Pack]. “I collected these spices during your trial. I’ll be leaving them with Kemna in trade for the meal.” She gestured to the white-haired catgirl at the tripod. “Be sure to make a habit of carrying items of use in your [Cat Pack] for times like these.”

  “Understood.” Keke drew a deep breath and rose to her feet. “I’d like to get started on my task.”

  “I admire your tenacity. Just return before nightfall.”

  “I will. Thank you, Sylva.”

  Sylva waved, and Keke strode out of the cabin onto the porch. The door shut behind her, and she took a moment to admire the petrichor. The gentle scent of fresh rain always reinvigorated her senses. Satisfied, she hopped down from the porch and looked around.

  Before she took off into the woods, she’d need a way to get back to Khasstead in case she got lost, and now seemed as good of a time as any to acquaint herself with more of the village. She spotted a woman with vibrant green hair speckled with red tending to a pot beneath the safety of a veranda. An enormous gray wolf’s pelt lay draped over her shoulders, its edge hanging mere inches above the ground.

  When Keke got closer, she noted several pouches and bottles on a table next to the pot. “Excuse me.”

  The woman turned around to reveal a patch over her left eye and a long scar that spanned the length of her face and down her chest. “What?”

  “My name is Keke. I’m looking for markers I could use so I don’t lose track of where I am in the forest.” A vial filled with white liquid on the table caught her eye, and the woman followed her gaze. “Do you have anything like that on hand?”

  “Got something better.” The woman shuffled between the bottles on the table and lifted a scroll. She carefully unrolled it and held it up for Keke to see.

  Keke’s eyes widened. “A map,” she murmured. And an extremely detailed one at that. Tiny X’s and careful scrawls detailed Encroacher locations and trapping opportunities. More importantly, it featured plenty of landmarks to reference.

  “Mhm.” She grunted and rolled it up.” I don’t recognize you. Are you the new [Scout]?”

  “I am. And you are?”

  “My name’s Thorn.” Her eye was so dark—no, obsidian black—that it was unnerving. “I will give you the map on the condition that you bring back a lover’s snare.”

  Keke frowned. The name sounded familiar. “Can you describe it?”

  Thorn paused. “Eight petals. A yellow stigma. Stands knee-high; pink colors. The barbs that grow on the petals are extremely fine.”

  Ah. That’s right. I remember now. The lover’s snare—monikered Saoirse’s Claw by some—was a very rare flower feared by many. Keke remembered the night Elona and Aurora had tended to Bella, a Ni Island native who was conned by a San Island merchant. Bella bought it with the intent of giving it to her daughter, only to brush her hand across the petals. Hundreds of barbs too small for the eye to discern lodged themselves into poor Bella’s palm, and she called upon Ni Island’s [Sniper] and [Bishop] for help.

  It was a terrible night.

  Elona and Aurora did everything they could to ease the pain, but without a [Hermetic], their options were limited. Since the risk of transferring the barbs to another person was too great, Elona carefully flayed the skin from Bella’s hand, and Aurora worked tirelessly to heal the wounds left over. While much of the pain eventually subsided, Bella’s hand would flare up on occasion, and Elona would flay another layer of skin in hopes that she finally got rid of all the barbs.

  The lover’s snare was not a flower to trifle with.

  “I’m not a fool,” Keke said, irritated. “What do you want with such a dangerous flower?”

  “My mark.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “No.”

  Keke clicked her tongue and sighed through her nose. “Sorry, but that’s a steep price for a map.” She looked from side to side, wondering who else around she could ask.

  “I’m Khasstead’s cartographer,” Thorn said. “My price is the best price.”

  Damn. Keke chewed on her options.

  “Or map it yourself.” Thorn blinked her one eye, shrugged, then turned back to her pot. “Burn your own daylight, not mine.”

  “Alright.” Keke sighed. “I’ll find your snare in exchange for the map. Deal?”

  “Deal.” Thorn passed Keke the map and three ivory-filled vials. “Here. Some waterproof paint, too. Get me that plant.”

  One by one, Keke put the bottles in her [Cat Pack]. When she was about to offer her thanks, Thorn had already turned around and resumed her activities with the pot.

  Not much for small talk, I guess. Well, at least I got what I needed.

  Keke browsed the map, then let her gaze travel to the edge of Khasstead. She started her march toward the woods. Her body itched to hunt again. To become part of nature and take in all the sights, sounds, and smells around her.

  If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll find the furlocke while I’m out there.

  When Keke came to the village’s edge, she paused and looked up at the canopy of trees that protected them. The rain was much denser in the distance.

  “[Combat Mode].” Her clothes disappeared in an instant, replaced by the garbs Matt had given her. The cloak felt natural around her shoulders, and her muscles brimmed with newfound [Energy]. She curled and uncurled her hands a few times and ensured her bow hung firmly around her shoulder.

  Procuring the first small bottle of white from her [Cat Pack], she dipped her finger into the substance, then brushed it against the tree immediately to her left.

  Watch me, Mom.

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