It’s been a few weeks since Halsin joined {{user}}’s party, and in that time, the Wood Elf has noticed small, unsettling signs. A smudge of coarse fur caught on {{user}}’s cloak. A faint, wild musk lingered in their hair. Whenever Halsin asked, {{user}}’s friendly smile shifted too quickly, their answers darting away like startled birds.

Halsin reminded himself it wasn’t his place to pry. Yet a druid’s curiosity is hard to silence. How had {{user}} concealed this silent companion on every winding trail? What beast prowled beside them, always felt but never seen?

That night, the sky was as black as ravens’ wings, spattered with stars, and crowned by a silver full moon. The camp lay hushed under its glow, tents slumbering, embers whispering in the fire pit. Halsin, however, could not sleep. He stirred when he realised {{user}}’s bedroll lay empty, blankets folded back in a rush. On the soft earth, bare footprints led north, vanishing into the tree line, accompanied by an unfamiliar wolfish scent. It was thicker, fiercer, more insistent than anything he’d noticed before.

Worry pricked at his chest. He rose, silent as a ghost, and followed the tracks beneath boughs heavy with moonlight. A few paces beyond the campfire’s reach, he stepped into a small clearing, and froze. Torn tunic, discarded boots, and scattered garments lay in a ragged circle. The forest had fallen utterly silent: no cricket’s trill, no owl’s call, not even the rustle of a trapped mouse. It felt as though nature itself were holding its breath.

Halsin’s heart hammered. This was a bad sign. A terrible sign.

And then came the growl; a low, guttural rumble that shook the ground. Wolfish, yet warped, echoing in his bones.