Raven's Watch ains

The forest on the northern edge of the mountain chain loomed like a sleeping giant, its twisted limbs clawing at the darkening sky. The air was thick with an unsettling chill, an omen of the winter creeping in, curling around the edges of autumn like smoke from a dying fire. Fog rolled in, a spectral tide that swallowed the underbrush, twisting the familiar into the uncanny, the trees standing sentinel like ancient sentinels, their gnarled bark resembling the veins of some great, slumbering beast.

Night settled in with an oppressive weight, the moon shrouded by the shifting clouds, casting the world in shades of gray and black. The ravens called from their hidden perches, their voices echoing through the stillness—a sound that clung to the air like the taste of rust, hinting at secrets buried beneath the damp earth. Each caw felt like a warning, a plea to turn back before the shadows deepened further, but curiosity, that insatiable itch, beckoned one deeper into the heart of the forest.

Edith stood at the edge of the forest, her heart pounding with a mix of exhilaration and trepidation. The cool air tugged at her fur, ruffling it like an unseen hand, a reminder that she was no longer among that which was familiar, no longer beholden to the established laws of her family; this was what scared her the most, yet she did not turn back.

This was a world alive with possibility, its dark corners holding both peril and promise.

Bakari’s nose twitched. Amber eyes pierced the night as he made his way past the mountains edge. His thick fur shielded him away from the chilled evening air. Something he’d always been thankful for. He brushed over his nose with a paw, stopping for a brief moment to glance around and take in his surroundings.

An unfamiliar scent plagued the air. Not a wolf. Not hunt. Something similar, but not the same. He furrowed a brow, catching sight of dark fur clinging onto a crumbled rock pile. A canines fur. His ears flopped over in curiosity. What creature navigated his same path at this hour? The boy felt inclined to find out.

He followed after the faint scent as it grew stronger. Trees towered over him as he emerged from the valley and towards the forest. Whatever it was smelled much clearer now. His howl echoed throughout the trees, informing his unknowing companion of his urge to find her. A gesture he hoped she’d catch on to.

This was not the first time Edith had been out in the wilderness; far from it, she had been taken a few times to hike trails and perform some duties among the pines as she'd grown, although these did not have dedicated gravel pathways or pavement, and there was no sign of her handlers. It was the way she wanted it — even as she hesitated beneath the creeping palms of branchwork. This was what she'd been seeking. She knew this about herself, even as doubt threatened to cloud her mental vision.

The trepidation was something she had to accept. Nothing in life worth having was easy to obtain. Edith knew her path diverged from that of her forebears, and she had begun to accept that; she also must accept the thought that the might be heartbroken over her choice, and that — along with the flouting of certain familial laws — was a harder sell.

The feeling only intensified when the sound of something bestial, yet familiar, rose through the trees. It was like the calling of children to their mother; it was the danger-call of a police siren to the waiting handlers; it was intimate, and intimidating, and had Edith frozen in place until the quiet came again.

Edith had never been a loud creature, and that had forever been a boon to her handlers. While other recruits might have squealed as they fought their duty, or been lulled in to the impulse of crying alongside the sirens as they passed, that was not Edith. In this instance too, she felt more outside-herself than anything; so no, she would not call back. She would stand as if on-guard within the dark, unsure if she should move forward or find shelter and be hidden.

The only thing she was certain of in any moment, was that she could not go back.