The next few days blurred together. Grub never stopped paying attention or lazed off those days. If anything, he paid more attention than ever. But nothing new revealed itself. He didn’t find any new markers. No clearer prints.There weren’t any voices carried through the trees either. Only forest. An endless forest.

  He just kept moving northwest. He went an hour at a time. Then a short break. Then another stretch.

  He rationed himself like he rationed food. He would walk until the tremor in his injured leg started to ache, then stop before it became a stumble. He would climb until the tightness in his ribs became unbearable, then rest before it turned debilitating.

  Grub’s body felt like it belonged to someone else now. The ribs never truly stopped aching. The Leviathan’s strike had not healed. Every twist reminded him. Every deep breath carried a dull pressure beneath his skin. Sometimes he swore he could feel the exact place the bone had cracked, like a thin seam had been poorly stitched back together.

  His leg was bad in a different way. The burn from the grub’s acid had left the skin tight and angry. Some mornings it felt stiff as bark. Other times it pulsed with heat beneath the bandage. When he walked too long, the muscles around it began to shake without permission. Despite all this

  He walked. He found another water source and refilled his skin carefully. He marked it in his journal, noted the slope of the land, the shape of a split rock nearby. Then he left it behind.

  He never stayed comfortable too long.

  On another night, he chose higher ground again — a slope angled just enough to make an approach from below difficult. He settled against a fallen tree that leaned diagonally across the incline, roots half exposed and tangled like knotted fingers gripping the soil. He felt uncomfortable that evening. He felt eyes on him through the darkness

  The insects pulsed and chirped. Small animals scarred near him. Twice he heard something heavier in the distance. He had to stay weary of his surroundings. He sat in the dark with his club resting across his lap and forced himself to breathe shallowly. And then he heard it. The sound of small footsteps moving around him. It came from downslope. Each step sounded calculated and slow.

  Grub didn’t turn his head. He let his eyes adjust to the dark and scanned the slope without moving his shoulders.

  The brush shifted. A low silhouette slid between shadows. He couldn’t see it clearly, but it seemed long and lean.

  Its spine arched subtly as it moved. The outline of its head lifted slightly above its shoulders before dipping again.

  It looked like the same species as the creature from the stream. Same length through the body. Its posture was nearly identical. Same lean, efficient motion. But it was larger. Or maybe closer. He couldn’t tell.

  He couldn’t tell if it was the same one that had drunk below him nights ago. He didn’t know if these creatures traveled alone. He didn’t know if they remembered scent. Or how far their territories expand.

  When the wind shifted, the predator froze. Its head turned toward him. Grub felt it before he saw it —it knew he was thee. Was it smell or sight? He couldn’t tell.

  As he thought about it the creature lunged. It came low and fast, muscle flowing under dark fur that shimmered faintly green in the thin moonlight. Its forelegs stretched forward, claws extended, jaws opening wide to reveal curved teeth that were not built for just biting—These were built for ripping prey into tiny chunks.

  Grub rolled sideways as quickly as his body allowed. His ribs detonated with pain as he twisted. His injured leg screamed when he pushed off the slope. The predator’s teeth snapped shut where his shoulder had been a fraction of a second earlier. He hit the ground hard. His vision flashed white for a heartbeat. The creature pivoted instantly — faster than he expected. Its tail lashed once for balance. One of its eyes reflected a dull amber as it locked onto him again.

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  It didn’t hesitate and quickly closed the distance in two strides. Grub forced himself up onto one knee and swung the club low. The wood connected with its foreleg with a heavy crack. The creature snarled — and it bared its teeth in pain. It had staggered but did not retreat. The creature lunged again. This time its claws scraped across his side. Heat tore across his ribs. As his fabric split, so did his skin. Rivers of crimson red blood flowed from his side.

  Grub gritted his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. He stepped forward and wore his best battle stance he could muster.

  If he retreated it could build momentum and catch him while he wasn’t looking. He brought the club up with both hands — and his ribs flared so violently that for a moment he thought he might drop it. The pain blurred his vision. The world tilted. The predator’s weight slammed into him. Causing them both to fall over. The monster’s breath was hot and rancid against his face. Its claws pressed into his chest caused blood to flow. The creature’s jaws snapped inches from his throat.

  Grub twisted, barely, and shoved the club upward between them. The wood jammed against the creature's lower jaw. It responded by looking down at the club before biting down on it—hard.

  The vibration shot through his arms. For a moment he thought the club might snap. He shifted his grip, ignoring the way his ribs resisted and drove the end of the club sideways toward its eye. The creature shrieked, high and furious. Dark fluid burst from its socket.

  It thrashed violently, claws raking across his already injured side. One of its rear legs kicked against his burned calf, and the sudden pressure nearly made him black out. Grub forced himself to move through the pain.

  He rolled with the thrashing, and gained a sliver of space. As soon as he saw an opening he brought the club down as hard as his shaking arms allowed. The skull cracked but did not give. So he did it again. The bone fractured audibly this time. The predator screamed and began to spasm as its head caved in. Grub raised the club a third time, vision swimming. And brought it down. The body went slack beneath him. For a long moment he did not move. He lay there half on top of it, breathing shallowly because breathing deeply hurt too much.

  His side burned where claws had reopened skin. Grub could feel his leg pulsing where it had been struck.

  He rolled off slowly and pushed himself upright using the fallen tree for support. The forest returned to its steady hum as if nothing had happened. Then the smoke rose.

  It was thicker than the herbivore and had a darker shade to it. It coiled out of the predator’s body attaching to it like a parasite. Grub absorbed it without hesitation. The weight in his chest surged sharply this time.

  When he did he could feel not just hunger. There was aggression in it. The creature had some territorial pride. For a fraction of a second, he felt the slope beneath him as territory. He felt the forest as something to dominate. His fingers tightened around the club. Then he exhaled slowly and forced the sensation down.

  The feelings slowly receded. Leaving behind only the familiar heaviness in his chest.

  He looked down at the creature again. It truly did resemble the one from the stream — same body structure, same fur coloration, same tail. But this one was broader through the shoulders. Its claws were thicker. Its teeth are longer.

  Maybe the same species. Maybe the same one. He would never know. He chose not to skin it—or take the meat.

  The smell of blood already lingered too strongly in the night air. Staying would invite another. Instead, he tore a strip from inside his shirt and pressed it hard against the claw marks along his ribs. The pressure made him hiss through his teeth. Warm blood soaked into the fabric before slowing. He wrapped the bandage tight. Quickly, he gathered his bundle and forced himself to move. Each step down the slope sent sharp jolts through his side. His leg trembled worse now than it had all week. He had to stop twice in the dark to steady himself against a tree. But he did not allow himself to sit.

  By the time the sky began to lighten faintly through the canopy, he had put enough distance between himself and the corpse. He found a shallow cover between two thick roots and lowered himself carefully. His entire body felt used. Leaning back against the bark, he closed his eyes for a moment. Grub raised his hand and pressed lightly against his bandaged ribs. The journey northwest still waited.

  The tracks still led somewhere. He would not let one predator — or the condition of his own body — end that. When the light strengthened enough to see clearly, he pushed himself upright despite the protest from every injury he carried.

  And he kept moving.