The deer’s white tail vanished into the wet reeds, its hooves drumming a startled rhythm across the thawing earth. Kazhak exhaled through his nose.

She’s getting better… but still too easily distracted.

The sky hung low and heavy with the end of spring rain; the steppes glistened under the slanted afternoon light. Everything smelled of damp soil, new grass, and melting frost. A quiet breeze rustled through the birch trees—the same breeze that had revealed her position. He stepped out from between the trunks.

“Your mother won’t be happy,” he said calmly, though his voice carried that edge of dry sarcasm he never fully hid with her “Running around the forest with a bow again.”