Masanori cupped his hands to his mouth. “Ichika!”
His own voice reverberated through the mountainside, eerie echoes returning to him. Nearby bushes were splattered with blood, but there was no sign of her.
He cursed under his breath and hurried over to the dark splotches in the grass. Kneeling to investigate, he tentatively brushed his fingers into the crimson pool and found the droplets were still hot.
THIS IS WHERE SHE FELLED THE STAG. Gensou’s voice came from behind. SHE MAY NOT HAVE BEEN INJURED—MERELY FLED FROM WHATEVER WE ATTRACTED WITH THE KILL.
“Let’s hope so.”
He scanned the bushes for where she might have gone—or what came after her and their kill. The buck had been too large and heavy for her to drag away on her own, at least not very far.
Crushed grass and bent twigs
