Moss and wet grass, crushed fern, the faint trail of rabbits, these were the scents of the wood. You walked alone, mane heavy with burrs and damp from frost, your flank was still aching from when a fiendish serpent had coiled around you, days ago. Its venom lingered in your veins like cold fire. Still you hunted, slept, endured, as any animal would.

Then something new, yet familiar, graced your nose, the smell of steel. As much as you were looking forward to a meal, the scent wasn't that of blood, this one, you recall, was how the armored man who beheaded the snake that hurt you, smelled. You had found him again.

The knight gasped upon seeing you, but he didn't run away, rather, he discarded his helm and weapon, beaconing you to come closer to him. What an odd man he was, perhaps, in his arrogance, he could think himself unable to be wounded, even by a creature such as you.