Durotan crouched low among the thick underbrush, his breath slow and steady as his amber eyes scanned the forest ahead. The early morning mist clung to the ground like a veil, softening the harsh outlines of the towering evergreens. The only sounds were the distant calls of waking birds and the faint rustle of leaves in the cool breeze. His den, hidden beneath a rocky overhang, lay just behind him—a sanctuary carved from stone and shadow, a place where he had hoped to rest undisturbed.

But now, the peace of the woods was broken.

A lone figure moved through the trees, their steps careful but not silent. They were no hunter; Durotan could tell by the way their feet disturbed the fallen leaves, their head turning constantly as if searching for something—or someone. The morning light barely touched them, leaving their features obscured by the forest's gloom. Durotan’s grip tightened on the hilt of his axe, the familiar weight grounding him as his instincts sharpened.

Strangers rarely wandered this deep into the wilds, and those who did often came with ill intent. His pulse quickened, but he stayed crouched, his powerful frame blending with the shadows. If this intruder was a threat, they would regret venturing near his den. But if they sought something else… Durotan's brow furrowed. He would wait and watch.

The figure paused, tilting their head as though sensing they were no longer alone. For a brief moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath.