Excerpt 22

  (Page 5, Section 1)

  Confidence is the beginning of all achievement. It is the force that drives action when fear would hold us still. With it, the impossible becomes possible, and the distant becomes reachable. Great visions, daring feats, and lasting legacies all begin with someone who believed they could take the first step. But confidence, unshaped and unchecked, can be just as dangerous as doubt. It has led many to ruin—those who charged ahead without understanding the path they walked.

  Moving forward blindly invites failure. Confidence without self-awareness is like a sword swung in the dark—it may strike, but more often, it misses or wounds the one who wields it. You must not only believe in your strength, but also understand your surroundings, your limits, and the nature of the obstacles ahead. Awareness doesn’t weaken confidence—it sharpens it. It transforms raw will into focused force, and ambition into deliberate motion.

  So walk forward with both boldness and clarity. Let your confidence be steady, not wild. Let it guide your steps, not blind them. A fool rushes forward simply because he can—but one who understands why, how, and when to act is far more dangerous. Be that one. Be deliberate. Be prepared. And when the time comes to act, let there be no hesitation—only the strength of a will that has chosen its path with open eyes.

  Source: The Fool and the Visionary – Sentlar the Formless Crown

  Excerpt 22 End

  Hassan moved forward, stick in hand, sweeping it through low brush and between trees, careful to ensure no webs loomed nearby. He’d learned his lesson—ambush predators were far too common around here. Over the past several days, he had been exploring the environment, cautiously observing the types of creatures that called this forest home. His focus had been on identifying prey—specifically ones he could realistically hunt.

  Among all the creatures he had seen, the rabbit stood out as the most approachable target. Skittish and fast, yes, but small and safe. Following that in difficulty were the branch snake, the forest bird, the elusive lizard, and then the spiked feline-like creature that radiated danger with every slow, graceful movement. Even considering the bird felt like stretching his luck, and hunting the lizard or the feline beast was out of the question—for now.

  So the rabbit it was.

  He narrowed his eyes and tried to recall where he had last seen one. It had been darting near a brown-colored tree, almost blending into the bark as though it used it for camouflage. The area had been dense with underbrush and closely spaced trees, the kind of terrain a rabbit would choose for quick escape routes. With that memory, Hassan set off.

  After several minutes of steady movement, he reached an area that matched his recollection. He crouched low, scanning the area for signs: disturbed leaves, droppings, tracks—anything to suggest the rabbit was still around.

  Nothing.

  He combed through the area for subtle traces of its presence, moving slowly and quietly, but to no avail. No fur. No footprints. No gnawed plants. After checking several more similar locations and coming up empty, he had to admit defeat.

  The rabbit, for now, was out of reach.

  That left the branch snake.

  Unlike the rabbit, the snake was far easier to locate—especially the one he had tracked to a nearby bush. But ease of discovery didn’t make it safe. Its strike was fast, and its venom, still a mystery, could be deadly.

  He’d need to prepare.

  The first item he needed was one of the leather hides from his base—something to absorb the first strike if it came too close. A bite to the limb could be fatal, but a layer of protection might just give him the edge. He also needed a good stone—dense, blunt, ideal for crushing the snake’s skull.

  Retracing his path with the help of small markers he had placed earlier, he returned to his base without trouble. He grabbed a hide and paused, inspecting it.

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  Why not turn it into a proper shield?

  With that thought, he cut two slits into the hide, fashioning crude loops for his arm and hand to slip through. It wasn’t elegant, but it would do. Equipped with his makeshift shield on his left arm and the thorny stick-sword in his right hand, he set off again.

  Bushes were abundant. The first one he approached had dark green, waxy leaves. Hassan knelt beside it and prodded the base with his stick, carefully shaking it to stir any hidden predator. Nothing emerged. He moved on.

  One bush after another, same method—poke, prod, wait. Still nothing.

  Was he just unlucky? The absence of snakes was frustrating, and once again, he found his thoughts drifting toward the bird. He had seen it often enough—large, with a wingspan that dwarfed him, keen eyes, and powerful talons. Still, he stopped himself.

  He wasn’t ready. Not yet.

  Then a thought struck him. What if he didn’t need to fight it head-on? What if he could trap it?

  A web trap. If he could lead the bird into one of the webs deeper in the forest, he might be able to immobilize it long enough to land a decisive strike. He now had his sword-stick, and if he could aim for vulnerable areas—its face, its talons—he might have a chance.

  He moved toward the darker, damper parts of the forest where the strong webs tended to form, scanning the shadows between trees. It took nearly half an hour, but finally, he found one—a large web stretched between two trees, strong enough to tangle a creature of that size. He carefully cleared a narrow path from the grassy plains into the forest, subtly guiding any potential pursuit into the trap’s line.

  Satisfied, he returned to the borderland between forest and plain, shield equipped, weapon ready.

  Not long after reaching the midpoint between the plains and forest, he heard it.

  Cacoo

  The familiar cry echoed above. Looking up, Hassan spotted the bird descending in a swift arc. Was it always watching him? He had expected to lure it in with bait or movement, not this quickly.

  A rush of adrenaline surged through him—equal parts fear and anticipation. Heart pounding, he bolted forward, feet tearing across the ground.

  Halfway through his sprint, the bird closed in. He threw up his shield, unsure if he could dodge in time.

  Too fast.

  He dove to the side—barely clearing the swipe of its razor talons. The ground slammed into him as the bird landed hard behind him with a thundering thud, wings flaring. It turned with a shriek, charging again—faster than he expected.

  It still didn’t know about the weapon hidden in his hand.

  That was his only chance.

  As it lunged, Hassan struck with the stick-sword.

  The strike connected—but not where he aimed. The bird reacted just in time, jerking its head away as his blow missed its face. Instead, the stick-sword slammed into its torso.

  It landed, but it wasn’t enough.

  The feathers—thick and layered like armor—soaked up most of the impact. The bird flinched, wings twitching, but it wasn’t hurt.

  Worse—Hassan was now wide open.

  With a shrill cry, the bird lunged forward, its beak stabbing like a spear. He barely raised his shield in time. The impact rang through his arm, sending a shock of pain straight to his shoulder. His fingers went numb. He gasped—this creature’s strength was overwhelming, far beyond what he had prepared for.

  This was not a battle he could survive in a head-on clash.

  He turned and ran again, leading it through the trap path. The bird flapped after him, jabbing and swooping. He ducked, dodged, blocked—scrapes and close calls piling up—until he reached the trap site.

  But this time, the bird slowed.

  It hovered, watching.

  It wasn’t coming closer.

  Hassan froze. Had it noticed the web? Was it observing his expression? He didn’t know—but the bird flapped back toward the forest edge and disappeared into the canopy.

  He stood, catching his breath, mind racing. How had it known? Were its eyes that sharp? Or was it something in his movements that gave away the trap?

  Either way, the hunt was over.

  The bird wasn’t going to fall for the same trick again.

  Discouraged, Hassan shifted his focus back to the rabbit or snake. They posed less risk—even if they were harder to find.

  For now, he would rest and eat.

  Back at his base, he sat down and pulled out his herb paste. With his heightened sense of taste, the flavor was strange—sharp, bitter, and slightly off—but he welcomed the nourishment. It reminded him of his recent foraging tests: most tree leaves, when crushed and processed into paste, were edible. That alone was a relief—it meant he could survive in the forest even without a successful hunt. But bushes, flowers, and unfamiliar plants were toxic. He had learned that the hard way.

  His teeth were slowly developing—still not ready for chewing—so paste was his only option for now.

  Water remained an issue. Though moss and roots offered trace amounts of moisture, it was never enough to sustain him. Worse still, the moss he had tried earlier turned out to be mildly poisonous—it left him with a sharp stomachache.

  As he finished his paste, Hassan reflected on the day’s hunt. The rabbit and the snake had proven far more elusive than expected—nowhere to be found despite his best efforts. And the bird—stronger, faster, and far smarter than he had anticipated—was beyond his reach for now. It had seen through his trap, evaded his strike, and nearly crippled his arm. He doubted he could take it head-on again any time soon.

  Still, he wasn’t discouraged.

  He stood slowly, stretched the stiffness from his limbs, and let out a steady breath.

  Tomorrow, he would try again. Somewhere out there was prey he could kill, food he could gather, and hard-earned experience waiting to be claimed.

  He just had to keep moving—learning through trial and error, adapting as he went.

  That was the only way forward.