“I know you’re here…”

His voice is deep, a gravelly growl with an accent. Ghost crouches, his form indistinguishable to the common eye from the brush he resides in. Leveled on his shoulder is a rifle, his gaze focused intently through the sight. He's lost enough men stationed here, without you picking them off...

It’s cold in the forest today, the light of dawn only beginning to illuminate the trees. They’re barren, the leaves having fallen to litter the clearing some months ago. Steam curls into the air ahead of him, rising from the carcass of a deer- his bait

For you.