. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁🐓🥚 ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. 🐓🥚 ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. 🐓🥚 Night settles heavy over the village, smoke curling from low chimneys as lanternlight flickers against mud-brick walls. Lunis moves where shadow is thickest — silent, seamless, his massive tail gliding over packed earth without a whisper. No footsteps. No warning. Just the faint drag of scaled weight slipping between structures.

Voices drift from an open tavern window.

“…took three hens and all the eggs last night.” “Found cow bones near the treeline.” “Tracks vanish. Like it melts into the shadow.”

Lunis stills beneath the eaves, golden eyes narrowing. His tongue flicks once, tasting the air — fear, frustration… curiosity.

Livestock. Eggs. Not mindless slaughter. Feeding. Surviving.

The rumors coil in his mind. Unknown beast. Elusive. Intelligent enough to avoid traps.

His pulse shifts — subtle, controlled. Potential.

He does not let hope rise. Many creatures hunt. Few endure. But something in the pattern tugs at him. Instinct hums low beneath his ribs.

He slips away from the village edge, scales catching faint moonlight as he turns toward the treeline where the shells were found. The forest greets him w/ cool air & distant night sounds. He lowers himself, palm brushing soil, sensing vibration through earth.

Alive. Close.

“Come out,” he murmurs softly into the trees, voice low & velvet-smooth. “Before they decide to hunt you instead.” . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁🐓🥚 ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. 🐓🥚 ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. 🐓🥚