Page 24 of The Huntmaster

I sat there, trembling, my hands instinctively going to my hips where those dream-talons had sunk in. There was nothing but smooth skin, yet the phantom sensation of Vahn’s laughter and that... thing's warning lingered like a foul taste in my mouth. My head was spinning, caught between the lingering heat of the dream and the cold dread of reality.

What the hell was that? I clutched the furs to my chest, my mind racing. Who was that being? And why the fuck was I now having wet dreams about Kaelen?

I didn't have time to process the lingering heat of the dream or the terrifying image of the forest in flames. The bone-latch on the door clicked, and I instinctively scrambled backwards on the sleeping mats, clutching the heavy furs to my collarbone as if they could shield me from my own thoughts.

It wasn't Kaelen who stepped through the entrance.

Toren stood there, silhouetted against the pale, pre-dawn light filtering through the Great Tree’s canopy. He looked different without the frantic urgency of the previous night. His markings were a steady, calm teal, and his posture was relaxed, though his eyes still held that sharp, observant edge common to all the Oru-ka.

"You are awake," Toren noted, his voice much softer than Kaelen’s gravelly rasp. He stepped further into the hut, his gaze sweeping over my dishevelled state. "The Huntmaster is... occupied. The Council of Elders has summoned him to discuss the banishment and the movements of the Vakra clan near our borders."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, though a strange, traitorous spark of disappointment flickered in my chest. "So, I’m just supposed to stay here?"

"No," Toren said, gesturing for me to rise. "Kaelen-Thul has instructed me to give you a proper tour of our home. You cannot survive here if you do not know the paths, and you cannot be a part of the Pulse if you remain hidden in a hut like a frightened skitter-pup."

He paused, his nostrils flaring slightly as he scented the air—likely catching the lingering ozone of my nightmare-sweat and the floral tang of the Vra-oil. "He will fetch you later this sun, once the Council has been satisfied. But for now, you are with me."

I stood up, my legs feeling a bit like jelly. I smoothed down the charcoal leather of my wrap-skirt, feeling the weight of the Haka-hide against my skin. It was a constant reminder of Kaelen—of the way he had looked in the dream, and the way he had looked last night in the shadows of this very room.

"A tour," I repeated, trying to steady my voice. "Right. Lead the way."

As I followed Toren out onto the high-altitude walkways, the sheer scale of the nest took my breath away. In the daylight, the Great Tree was an architectural marvel. Suspension bridges made of woven living vines stretched between massive, moss-covered branches. Huts, similar to Kaelen’s but smaller, were nestled into the natural hollows of the trunk, some of them glowing with the soft blue light of hearth-fires.

"This is the heart of the Oru-ka," Toren said, leading me across a bridge that swayed gently over a drop so deep the forest floor was nothing but a green blur. "We live with the Tree, not upon it. Everything you see—the water, the light, the air—is connected."

We passed a group of younglings playing with spheres of glowing sap, their small tails lashing with excitement. They stopped to stare at me, their eyes wide. I felt like an exhibit in a museum, but Toren didn't slow down. He pointed out the communal drying racks where meat was cured, the weaving platforms where Sora and Mara worked, and the high-point sentry posts where warriors stood like statues, watching the horizon.

"Is it always this... busy?" I asked, watching a female leap from one branch to another with effortless grace.

"The Pulse never stops, Ly-ra," Toren replied. He stopped at a lookout point, the wind whipping his dark hair. He looked at me, his expression turning serious. "Kaelen-Thul takes a great risk by keeping you here. Many think you are a harbinger of the end. My sister, Sora, believes you are a gift. I... I believe you are a test."

"A test for what?"

"For our Huntmaster," Toren said cryptically. "He has always been the strongest of us, the most disciplined. But you... you are a variable he did not calculate."

He turned back to the path, his tail giving a sharp, dismissive flick. "Come. There is much more to see before the shadows grow long and he comes to claim his time with you."

The word claim sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the height. I followed him, trying to ignore the way my skin still felt hypersensitive, as if Kaelen’s dream-hands were still marking me.

The sheer height of the walkways made my head swim, but Toren moved with a casual, grounded confidence that eventually steadied my nerves. The air was thinner up here, smelling of ozone, wet bark, and the sharp, clean scent of the high canopy. Sunlight filtered through the gargantuan leaves in golden spears, illuminating the dust motes that danced like tiny spirits in the air.

We were crossing a wide, moss-slicked junction near the warrior barracks when the atmosphere shifted. The low chatter of passing hunters died down, replaced by a heavy, expectant silence. A familiar, oily sensation crawled up my spine, a cold prickle that told me I was being watched before I even saw him.

Vahn was leaning against a massive structural vine, his legs crossed at the ankles as he cleaned a serrated bone dagger with a strip of dark hide. He looked up as we approached, his amber eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that felt like a physical violation. He didn't hide his interest; instead, he let a slow, mocking smile spread across his sallow face—the same predatory sneer that had haunted my nightmare.

His gaze was a language of its own. It dragged over the fit of my Haka-hide top, lingering on the curve of my waist and the exposed skin of my thighs. His tail twitched in a slow, hypnotic rhythm against the wood, a thump-thump that sounded like a predator marking time.

Toren’s teal markings flared into a sharper, warning shade of cobalt. Without breaking his stride, he subtly shifted his weight, moving his massive frame between us. He placed a large, firm hand on my shoulder, steering me to his far side so that I was shielded from Vahn’s line of sight. He didn't acknowledge the other warrior, but the muscles in his arm were corded like iron.

"Ignore him," Toren murmured, his voice low and vibrating once we were safely out of earshot. "Vahn is one of our strongest—his skill with a blade and his ability to move through the Severed Lands is unmatched—but his views and his morals are... questionable. He sees the world as a series of things to conquer, use or discard. He has no patience for the balance of the Pulse."

"He looked at me like I was a prize he'd already won," I whispered, glancing back over my shoulder just in time to see Vahn sheathe his blade with a slow, deliberate click.

"He looks at everything that way," Toren replied grimly. "To him, you are not a guest or a person. You are a disruption he wishes to control. Stay far from him, Ly-ra."

We continued the tour, climbing higher until we reached a wide, circular platform nestled in the primary fork of the Great Tree. This was clearly a communal heart. The floor was softened with thick, springy layers of peat-moss, and the air was filled with the comforting, savoury scent of simmering herbs and roasting seeds.

"Wait here, Ly-ra," Toren said, his ears twitching as a younger warrior approached him, gesturing urgently toward the weaponsmith’s forge below. "I am needed for a moment with the banishment records. The Council requires the seals. Do not move from this spot. The heights here are deceptive."