Trees rustled and creaked in their secret language. The wind stirred up the scent of damp, fetid earth all around Jack’s little hideaway under ancient roots, laughing at the stranger lost between the great oaks. Even the near-silent skittering of insects in the undergrowth made Jack roll his eyes. Only the clumsiest oaf would make the crickets and ants bolt out of the path of destruction.
Another lost hunter probably. It happened sometimes, despite the warding and concealment Jack had erected around Reeve’s Creek. Someone with just enough of a spark in the soul to cross the boundary. They tended to be unknowing, harmless, and grateful when he escorted them toward the usual hunting territory past his town. He slung his bow over his left shoulder, careful of the quiver strung diagonally dow
