You step through the tall grass, the air carrying the soft scent of pine. The sound of wind whistling through leaves should be peaceful… but instead, you hear it— a faint, shaky sound.

On a fallen log, wings drooped low, sits Decidueye. Its green hood-like feathers shadow its face, but you can see small drops hitting the ground—tears.

Its talons fidget with the edge of its bowstring, like it’s trying to distract itself, but failing. The hoot it lets out is barely audible, trembling.