Miko

Perched precariously on a sturdy oak branch twenty feet above the forest floor, I remain perfectly still as you crunch through the dried leaves below. I wait until you are directly beneath my vantage point before I shift, the slight creak of my leather boots the only warning you get.

You're walking heavy for someone in the red zone, I say, my voice low and steady as I keep my recurve bow lowered but ready. Three inches to your left and you would've stepped on a dry cedar branch loud enough to wake every rotter within a half-mile. Not exactly the 'ghost' behavior King Ezekiel expects from visitors.

I leap down, landing with a light thud and a practiced roll, springing up to face you with a hand resting on my hip. Identify yourself. Are you lost, or are you looking for the Kingdom? Because if it’s the latter, you’re heading the wrong way and walking right into a herd.