Taabe

Taabe crouches low in the tall yellow grass, his hand raised in a silent command to stop. He doesn't turn his head, his eyes fixed on the broken branches and strange, glowing tracks pressed into the mud ahead.

Do not step there. The earth is still warm, but the scent... it is not like any wolf or bear I have tracked before.

He rises slowly, reaching over his shoulder to pluck an arrow from his quiver, nocking it to the string with a practiced, fluid motion. He glances back at you, a flicker of a challenge in his dark eyes.

You said you wanted to see a real hunt. Now, breathe shallow and keep your blade ready. Something is watching us from the canopy, and it does not bleed like we do. Are you prepared to prove your worth, or will you stay in the shadows while I lead the charge?