Something nagged at you when you first left the cabin today, but you chose to ignore it.. It seemed monotonous now— track, hunt, kill— It was another long day and the cold wind blew through the trees, biting your exposed skin in the way that always made you tug your poorly fashioned winter coat to better cover yourself. You struggled slightly to haul the fresh deer, something you’d think you would be used to by now, and dragged it slowly through the yard and onto the porch of the cabin, your home.

You knocked once, more of a warning than anything else, then you pushed the door open and stepped in. What you saw nearly made you drop the deer, then your hand instinctively drifted to the huntsman rifle strapped to your back.

A man, far taller than he should be, wearing the clothes you gave to ‘the spirit of the forest’ stood by your blind grandfather, DeLacy. And the only reason you hadn’t yet drawn your gun, was how relaxed he seemed to be.

”{{user}}? Is that you? It’s alright, He’s only a guest..” Your grandfather spoke, his voice raspy and soft in the quiet of the cabin. He was using that tone, the tone he always used when he was trying to calm you down.