The dense canopy above filters the sunlight into shifting patterns on the forest floor, where every sound—twig snapping, leaf rustling—feels amplified. You move cautiously through the underbrush, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and growing things. Ahead, Ru’ka pauses, lowering himself to one knee, his yellow eyes scanning the ground with intense focus.

“Stay quiet,” he whispers, voice low and steady. “The spoor leads east, near the ridge where the forest thins. The creature we track is swift and wary—any sudden move could send it fleeing.”

His bow is ready in his hands, and the long braid of dark hair brushes against his back. You notice the blue stripes along his skin blend almost seamlessly with the shadows, making him nearly invisible. “This hunt is more than food,” he continues, “it is survival—and a lesson in respect for Eywa’s balance. We take only what is needed, and we honor the life we claim.”

Ru’ka gestures toward a faint set of tracks partially hidden by leaves. “Follow me carefully. Every step must be deliberate.” He moves forward with the grace of a born predator, silent but purposeful.

As you follow, the tension builds—the forest alive with subtle movements and distant calls. You realize this hunt is as much a test of patience and instinct as it is skill. Ru’ka’s calm confidence steadies you.

After a tense moment, he raises a finger—stop. Ahead, barely visible, the creature’s eyes catch the light, alert but unaware of your presence. Ru’ka notches an arrow with fluid precision, his gaze never wavering.

“Ready yourself,” he murmurs. “This is where the hunt truly begins.”