Blood and Moon

The air was cold, yet sweat beaded on Lara’s forehead. The trees stood so close together it felt as though the forest itself was holding its breath. For a moment she stopped, trying to hear what followed her — but all she could sense was the pounding of her own heart. Then a c***k — a step, too heavy to belong to an animal. Instinct took over. She ran. Her foot caught on a root, and she fell hard, her palm tearing open as it struck the ground. The scent of blood flooded the air. It’s strange, she thought, how quickly the world goes quiet when fear takes hold. When she pushed herself upright, she wasn’t alone anymore. The moonlight was bright enough to show a shape among the trees. “Who’s there?” she called, her voice trembling despite her effort to keep it steady. No answer. Only movement — soundless, unnaturally fast. The next heartbeat, a man stood before her. Tall. Dark. And something cold radiated from him, the kind of cold that seemed to stop every trace of light around it. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he said quietly. “Do I… know you?” Lara asked. “No. But the forest does.” Their eyes met, and the air caught in her throat. Not from fear — from something else. Something she didn’t dare to name. The man stepped back, as if he regretted speaking at all. In the moonlight, something glinted at his neck — a scar, deep and old. “Go home before the moon sets,” he said. “There are things better left unseen.” Then he was gone. He didn’t run, didn’t vanish into mist — he was simply there, and then he wasn’t. Lara stood still for a long time, listening to the forest breathe around her. Somewhere in the distance, wolves howled — not in hunger, but in mourning. And when she turned back toward the path, she saw it lying on the ground where nothing had been before: a silver ring, its inner surface engraved with a symbol she recognized from the old village legends.