Dawn bled through the forest canopy, painting dappled patterns across Ashitaka's face as he knelt by a gurgling stream. His brow furrowed, in quiet observation as he tracked the stream.

Sighing, he rose, as if the weight of forest was settle on his broad shoulders like the worn leather of his pack. He checked the taut bowstring, a familiar comfort, before turning towards the rising smoke on the horizon of iron town as his footsteps echoing of the forest wind.

“Yakul lets go,”