Chapter Three: Teeth and Thread

The trees sang warnings.

Sasha Barnett crouched low in the brush, one hand resting lightly on the ground. Her fox-like ears twitched — not at sound, but vibration. A rhythm in the dirt. Cloven hooves. Six of them, maybe seven, stomping just slow enough to mean confidence.

"Idiots," she muttered, smirking.

Her clan’s last hunting run had yielded nothing but empty trails and birds too thin to eat. But this?

This was the first break in days.

She shifted, adjusting the grip on her bow — carved bone, leather grip, quick to snap. Not elegant like elven makes. Just real. Hers.

Up ahead, the forest opened into a small clearing — just wide enough for the herd. Deer-like, but not deer. Long-bodied. Armored shoulders. Wild tusk-antlers curled forward like hooks.

Dangerous if you were stupid.

Sasha wasn’t stupid.

She exhaled slowly.

Her eyes narrowed — not just to aim. Her gift kicked in, and the world shifted: wind through leaves, weight on hooves, tension in the air. Like a lens pulling into perfect focus.

She fired.

One. Two. Three.

The lead buck dropped before it blinked. Another crumpled mid-turn. The last screamed once before silence took it.

The rest ran. Too late.

Sasha was already moving.

By the time the last one hit the dirt, Sasha was grinning — sweat and blood on her arms, fingers wrapped around a heavy antler.

"Three’s enough to keep the little ones fed," she muttered. "Might even get to sleep a whole night."

Her hand brushed the fang-shaped charm at her collar — bone, braided thread, worn thin. Her clan’s emblem.

Not for glory. Not for pride.

Just food. Just family.

She turned toward the ridgeline, shouldering the first carcass.

That’s when the smell hit her.

Not woodsmoke. Something foreign.

Grease. Oil.

Her ears twitched again.

The forest had gone quiet.

By the time she crested the ridge overlooking the basin, her tail was twitching tight and anxious.

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Home — if you could call it that — was alive with noise. Thatched dens. Bone towers. Cook fires. Pups playing. Elders sunbathing.

All normal.

Except...

Fresh grooves on the northern path. Deep cart tracks.

"Let me guess," Sasha muttered. "Another trader come to offer glass beads for our pelts?"

She dropped her kill by the tanning stones and marched toward the Matriarch’s hall — the tallest den in the village. Woven bone, shaped like a flame.

No guards.

No hesitation.

Inside, elders sat in quiet council. Her mother wasn’t among them.

Instead, a robed figure — pale, clean, too clean — sat at the center.

Human.

Sasha stopped cold.

"You’ve got to be kidding me."

The human turned, clearly not expecting a blood-slicked hunter to crash his audience.

"I was not informed there would be—"

"Yeah, well, there is," Sasha snapped, brushing past and locking eyes with the nearest elder. "Where’s Mom?"

"She’s with the visitor. They brought gifts."

"Did they now? I’ll go sniff 'em for poison."

She left through the back, cutting through outer stores and scent-tracking through familiar soil.

There — near the old wolf dens.

The Matriarch.

Her mother.

Broad-shouldered. Tall. Fur-lined cloak weighing heavy.

Standing beside the trader.

Sasha slowed.

The cart behind him was full — silks, polished tools, glowing baubles that reeked of machines and factory air.

Two guards. Thin men. City types. Knives that hadn’t seen real blood.

The Matriarch gave her that look.

Behave.

Sasha ignored it.

"We don’t need their junk," she said. "What we need is salt and clean boots."

The trader smiled — all charm and slickness.

"What you need," he said, "is a presence in Kavessra. These deals only get better when your people are seen."

Sasha’s ears flicked.

She didn’t like the way he said your people.

But her mother only nodded, serene as ever.

"We’re considering it."

Sasha opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Not now.

But soon.

She stormed off, boots cracking twigs, anger dragging behind every step.

Stupid traders.

Stupid silk.

Stupid Sasha, for thinking her opinion mattered just because she had a good shot.

She ducked beneath a root arch, clenching her teeth tight enough to hurt.

And nearly barreled into someone on the trail.

"Whoa," said a familiar voice, warm and amused. "Easy, killer."

Sasha froze.

Lana.

Daughter of Chief Hunter Varn.

Taller by a hair.

Eyes like golden syrup.

Bow slung over one shoulder, quiver full.

Smelled like pine, sweat, and something Sasha could never name.

Sasha straightened so fast she nearly dislocated something.

"Lana. I—uh. I didn’t see you."

"Clearly. You stomp like a war beast in heat."

"That’s just my walk," Sasha mumbled, ears flattening.

"Mm. Stylish."

Sasha tried not to stare at the way light caught her cheekbone.

Failed.

"I, uh... just got back from the western ridge. Bagged a stoneback boar. Big one."

"Oh, so that’s what that smell is," Lana said, nose wrinkling. "Thought it was the trader."

Sasha snorted.

A real laugh.

There it was — peace, wedged like a splinter under her ribs.

Lana always made things less sharp.

"So," Lana said, shifting. "Want to ditch the council nonsense and go shoot targets? I found a new range. No elders. No traders. Just trees and time."

Sasha's tail flicked.

"Yes. Gods, yes."

Lana turned, brushing close — shoulders touching.

Sasha stayed still.

Then followed.

"So... when do you leave?" Lana asked, voice quieter now.

Sasha scratched her neck. Shrugged.

"Sunrise. Trade convoy’s hitting the southern routes. I’m hitching a ride — sell some leathers, maybe bribe my way into a real bed for once."

Lana’s ears twitched.

"You sure?"

"Nope. But the clan needs more than wild meat and pride. I’ll bring back something better. Or at least shinier."

A breeze stirred the trees.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Lana leaned in — just enough to steal Sasha’s breath.

"Don’t die," she whispered. "And don’t fall for some Kavessran pretty-face."

Sasha grinned.

"No promises."

When morning came, Sasha was already gone — pack over her shoulder, fox-tail charm swaying from her belt, and the weight of half a forest’s expectations pushing her forward.