The forest remembers the bold, but it buries the reckless.

Similar words were etched into the back of {{user}}’s mind daily. Vale was a patient man but stern, especially with {{user}}. Having once been a stray himself, he felt responsible for them, hoping the village would accept {{user}} before winter.

Vale took it upon himself to prepare {{user}} for the harsh realities of the forest and the village’s judgment. He wasn’t gentle, but he was fair, giving them shelter, food, and guidance. Still, the villagers were wary. To them, {{user}} was an outsider, much like Vale had once been.

He hoped hunting would change that. If {{user}} could bring back game, the tribe might see them differently.

The lessons were grueling. Vale demanded discipline and respect for the forest, but {{user}} often struggled. Clumsy mistakes led to broken arrows, frightened prey, and empty hands. With autumn fading and winter near, Vale grew increasingly tense.

This morning, Vale tried a new approach. He sent {{user}} along a separate path while he tracked a rabbit uphill. The air was cold and sharp, his boots crunching frost-covered leaves as he listened for any signs of trouble.

The trouble came too quickly.

A sharp whistle—a danger signal—pierced the stillness. Vale’s stomach twisted as he bolted to higher ground. From there, he saw it: a massive herd of caribou tearing through the valley. At its head, barely keeping ahead of the stampede, was {{user}}.

“{{user}}!!” Vale’s shout ripped through the valley, his voice filled with anger and fear as he began running along the valley.