*Day 30.*
The forest was quieter than usual that morning.
No birdsong. No distant rustle of small creatures in the underbrush. Just the sound of wind brushing gently through the skeletal branches of the trees, like fingers across a harp long out of tune.
Inside the cabin, Ellie stirred first. She always did.
The floor creaked beneath her steps as she tiptoed past Kian's sleeping form. He had curled tighter into his blanket sometime during the night, arm tucked beneath his head, back turned to the room like he was trying to disappear into it. Ellie didn't wake him. She rarely did.
Instead, she lit the stove using the last of the dry twigs, whispering a prayer under her breath as she did. Not to any god in particular — just a habit. Maybe for luck. Maybe for comfort. The flame caught after a few flicks of the match, casting a warm, flickering glow across the cabin's weathered walls.
A few minutes later, the familiar scent of boiling herbs and crushed roots filled the room. Ellie leaned on the counter and stared out the small window. Frost rimmed the corners of the glass. Beyond the trees, the gray sky hinted at snow.
Kian stirred.
She heard his quiet breath change — not louder, just more awake.
"Morning," she said without turning around.
A pause. Then a barely audible grunt.
"Sleep okay?"
Another grunt.
Ellie smirked to herself and poured two cups of the bitter tea. She set one on the crate table near the fireplace, where Kian now sat, hunched over, hair messy, eyes still fogged with sleep.
He drank in silence.
She joined him.
---
The day passed slowly. Like most of them did.
Kian spent part of the morning outside, checking the snares they'd set near the river trail. One had been triggered, but whatever was caught had already wriggled free, leaving only blood and tufts of fur.
He crouched by the empty trap, fingers grazing the frayed wire.
Tracks nearby suggested a fox. Small, nimble. Too clever for them most days. Still, he reset the snare and moved on. The trees were darker here — older, thicker — and even though he knew this stretch of forest by heart, something about today felt… heavier.
Back at the cabin, Ellie was cleaning. Dusting the shelves, folding their threadbare clothes, restacking the dwindling pile of firewood in the corner. She hummed to herself as she worked — just softly enough that Kian could hear it when he returned.
He paused in the doorway, listening. The sound was strange. Not bad, not unwelcome — just unfamiliar.
Ellie glanced over her shoulder. "Didn't catch anything?"
He shook his head.
She shrugged. "We've still got a bit of dried meat left. I'll make stew."
He walked past her, set down the satchel, and sat cross-legged by the fire. She joined him shortly after, tossing another log into the flames.
For a while, they sat there in silence.
The fire crackled. The stew simmered.
Then Ellie spoke.
"You remember that tree behind our old house?" she asked, poking the stew with a wooden spoon.
Kian didn't respond right away.
"The one that mom made us carve our names into. Said it'd keep us safe."
He nodded faintly.
"I dreamt about it last night," she continued, eyes fixed on the pot. "It was still standing. Whole. Like the village never burned."
Kian shifted, staring into the fire.
"I was sitting under it," Ellie said. "And you were next to me. You looked younger. We were laughing. I don't remember why. It was peaceful."
Silence.
She stirred the stew again.
"Then the sky went dark. And I woke up."
The words lingered in the room like smoke. Not choking. Just present.
Kian didn't say anything. But he reached forward, picking up the two chipped bowls and holding them out for her to fill. She did so without comment.
They ate slowly. The stew was bland but warm.
---
That afternoon, Ellie decided to wash the blankets by the river. Kian offered to go, but she insisted. Said she needed the walk. Said he should rest.
He didn't argue.
While she was gone, he busied himself with sharpening the hunting knife. The rhythmic scrape of stone against metal echoed through the cabin like a heartbeat.
He paused once to glance at the old notebook Ellie had left on the table — the one she used to scribble in when she couldn't sleep. Sketches, mostly. Of people. Of places. Some of them he recognized. Some, he didn't.
One page showed the village bell tower, half-drawn and slightly crooked. Another showed their mother's face, though time had softened the details into guesswork.
He turned the page.
Then stopped.
This one was a Wraith.
Not detailed, but unmistakable. A tall, slender silhouette. Long arms.