The fifth night had passed, but hunger remained.
Skit stirred awake, his thin body curled beneath the meager shelter of thick roots and damp earth.
The village was still, save for the occasional grunt or twitch of a sleeping goblin. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, smoke, and the remnants of last night's feast.
His stomach clenched.
The hunger had dulled after eating, but now it gnawed at him again, a restless ache that would not fade, waking him up from his dreamless sleep.
He had buried the badger. A meal set aside, hidden from the others.
Now, he would claim it.
Skit shifted, careful not to rouse his broodmates.
They were sprawled about, their thin chests rising and falling in uneven rhythm.
Some still clutched at their empty bellies, their bodies too weak to stir, while others twitched in restless sleep.
His sharp eyes darted toward the deeper part of the village. The fire had long since died, its embers barely smoldering.
The older goblins, some bloated from their gluttonous feast, lay strewn about in crude heaps, snoring and grumbling in their sleep.
Yet not all remained idle. A few had already stirred, stretching their limbs with lazy growls before slipping into the shadows of the forest, off to hunt for their morning meal.
Satisfied, Skit crept into the dawn's shadows, slipping away to unearth the carcass he had buried the night before.
The forest swallowed him whole, its thick roots and twisted branches offering perfect cover as he moved.
He retraced his steps from the night before, his bare feet silent against the damp earth, barely disturbing the quiet.
Soon, he reached the spot.
However…
The soil was disturbed.
The dirt where he had buried the carcass was loose, freshly overturned.
His heart pounded, a sharp awareness creeping up his spine. Slowly, he crouched, fingers brushing the earth, feeling the absence.
The badger corpse was gone.
Grr—!
Skit's breath hitched, a low growl rumbling in his throat as his instincts surged to the forefront.
Beastly fury mixed with hunger, and he gritted his fangs, nails digging into the damp earth as his eyes scanned the ground.
The scent was faint, but it was there—the lingering trace of blood, now mixed with something else… a sharp, acrid stench.
"…Steal?"
The earth had been torn apart by something hungry—something that had scented the hidden flesh and unearthed it with ease. Tiny tracks dotted the soil, leading into the brush.
Not a goblin.
Skit's jaw tightened.
Burying meat… no good.
He stared at the empty hole, hunger twisting inside him, but now there was something else. A lesson, carved into the dirt as surely as the claw marks.
There were things in the night that hunted, that stole, that smelled what others could not.
Skit exhaled slowly. He had thought himself clever, smarter than the others. And yet, his meal was gone.
Next time, he would not just bury his food.
Next time, he would bury a trick.
His stomach growled, but he ignored it. Instead, he knelt, pressing a hand to the disturbed earth. The tracks were faint.
If he followed them—
[…]
But as his fingers brushed the soil again, a sudden flicker—like before. A flash. But this time, it didn't just vanish.
His vision blurred, then sharpened.
The faint traces in the dirt shifted, becoming clearer—vivid, as if a hidden layer of the world had peeled open before him. A strange awareness crept in, something new.
Faint outlines—no, not just footprints—lingered in the soil. Shapes too subtle to notice before now stood out, etched in eerie clarity.
He blinked. The world around him suddenly felt sharper. His breath quickened as his vision adjusted, revealing traces that had been invisible just moments ago.
Gah—!?!
Instinct kicked in. Skit jolted back, his muscles coiling in fright.
The world felt different. It felt weird.
There, a small series of faint marks, nearly invisible to the naked eye, glowed for a fraction of a second—before they faded again.
Skit's breath hitched.
The knife he stole from Vrik was already in his grasp, his fingers tight around the rough handle. He hadn't even thought—his body simply reacted, fangs bared, muscles coiled.
His eyes flicked back to the ground. The strange, glowing traces had faded, but he knew what he saw. Knew what he felt.
His ears twitched, straining. The forest creaked, the wind whispered, but there was no movement nearby. Nothing.
Skit tilted his head, confusion creeping into his sharp features.
"…Gre?" he muttered, uncertain.
Slowly, he crouched, pressing a hand to the earth again. His breath remained steady, though his grip on the crude knife did not loosen.
Yet still… nothing happened.
Skit frowned, his grip tightening on the knife. His free hand pressed against the dirt, testing, feeling. Nothing. Just cold earth beneath his fingers.
But he wasn't wrong. He knew what he saw.
His ears twitched. What was different before?
His mind reeled back to the moment it happened—the sharp click, the tension, the way his breath caught.
Feel again.
Skit exhaled slowly. His claws traced the ground, his breathing deep and steady, his hunger momentarily forgotten.
He reached for the feeling again, the strange clarity that had opened his eyes.
Then—
[…]
The air shifted. The world sharpened.
The wide, black slits in his yellow eyes thinned, contracting like a beast locking onto its prey.
And this time, the glowing traces didn't vanish immediately.
Skit's breath slowed as the world around him sharpened into vivid focus.
The faint traces in the dirt glowed with an unnatural clarity, revealing shapes he couldn't have seen before—lines, claws, and subtle movements where there had been nothing
His fingers trembled as he traced the outlines in the dirt with his claws, feeling a strange pull, an understanding blossoming in the depths of his mind.
The traces—footprints, no, something else—the presence of the creature that had stolen the meat. It wasn't just a trail; it was a something he couldn't explain.
A language Skit had never known but somehow understood.
His hunger, his anger, his instincts—they all merged into a singular focus.
His hand tightened around the knife.
And he moved.
The glowing lines pulsed faintly at first, mere flickers in the dirt, but as Skit followed them, they brightened, surging with each step he took.
The marks weaved through the undergrowth, guiding him forward like veins pulsing with unseen life.
Skit slipped through the trees, silent as shadow, his body low to the ground. Twisted roots jutted out beneath his feet, damp earth sinking slightly under his weight.
He moved past jagged stones and thick foliage, his senses heightened, tracking the trail with an intensity beyond simple sight.
Leaves rustled as he pushed past a bush, the scent of wet bark and moss filling his nostrils.
The path wound through towering trunks, deeper into the woods, where the canopy thickened, letting only faint streaks of light pierce through.
Then—
The trail ended.
Skit came to a halt, eyes narrowing at an unremarkable tree standing among its brethren.
Nothing about it should have caught his attention—it was just another tree, surrounded by gnarled roots and dense bushes, blending perfectly with its surroundings.
Yet he could see it.
And it stared back at him.
A slithering motion—a flicker of something dark.
Skit's fangs bared slightly as his grip on the crude knife tightened.
The tree wasn't a tree. Not completely.
Perched against the bark, motionless yet watching, was the one who stole his meat.
A shape peeled away from the trunk, yet it didn't move—it had already been there, watching. A flick of something thin and quick—a dark tongue, tasting the air.
Skit's breath hitched. His pupils narrowed into sharp slits.
Green eyes, slitted black like a serpent's, peered at him from the bark. Not on the bark—as if they were part of it.
Its skin—no, its scales—weren't like flesh, weren't like the soft bellies of prey. They were rough, jagged, like the bark of the tree itself.
A creature made for stealing. For ambush. For deception.
And now, it stared back at him, unblinking.
Skit's grip on his knife tightened.
The thing—the thief—clung to the tree, its form twisted and unnatural, yet perfectly blended with the bark.
Then, it moved.
Skit didn't know what this creature was. He had never seen anything like it. But if he did, he would know.
It was a predator.
Not the kind that chased, not the kind that fought head-on. The kind that waited. The kind that took.
Its body uncoiled from the bark, peeling away like a branch breaking free from the wind's grip.
A long head—too long—serpentine, smooth yet ridged, tapering into a sharp, angular jaw. It had no nostrils, no fur, only that flickering dark tongue, testing the air between them.
Not just a snake. Not just a lizard. Something in between.
Of course, Skit didn't know what it was, nor did he care.
Skit's eyes flicked lower. It had limbs. Small, clawed forelegs clutched the bark, anchoring it in place.
Its hind legs, more powerful, pressed close to the trunk as if ready to lunge, muscles coiled beneath its bark-like scales.
And that tail, thick and gnarled, wrapped tight against the wood, keeping it balanced.
Had he not followed the trail, had he not seen the glow… he never would have known it was there.
Its green eyes—like flickering leaves, blending with the canopy—remained fixed on him.
And Skit knew. Knew what it wanted.
It had stolen his food.
And now, it wanted more.
It wanted to eat him.
However—
Skit's fangs bared, a low growl rumbling in his throat.
His grip on the knife tightened, hunger and instinct burning in his gut."…Found you… thief."
Because this time—he was the one who would eat.
...
UPCOMING NEXT - CHAPTER 6 - Prey Among Predators
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