Song of the Shifters

The Hunt

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of fiery orange and dusky purple. Crawford and Light had ventured deeper into the wilderness of North Cascadia. The dense forest enveloped them in its cool embrace, the only sounds being the rustling of leaves, the whisper of the wind, and the occasional call of a distant bird.

With nothing but the tranquility of the woods around them, Crawford decided to embark on a hunting trip. The forest was teeming with wildlife, and the promise of a successful hunt hung in the air.

North Cascadia's landscape soon transitioned from the dense forest they had previously traversed into vast, open grassy fields. Tall, swaying grasses stretched as far as the eye could see, broken only by the scattered presence of colossal rocks. It was a land of unspoiled beauty, where the horizon seemed endless.

Light had eventually grown weary from the journey and sought solace in the boughs of a towering tree. She ascended with grace, finding a sturdy branch to recline upon. From her elevated vantage point, she had a perfect view of Crawford, who moved stealthily through the underbrush as he tracked his quarry.

In this vast expanse, Crawford found himself in a game of stealth and patience. The lack of trees meant he had to rely on the rocky outcroppings for cover as he hunted his prey. His form remained human, as his form was not strong enough to hunt big game.

The field itself was a breathtaking sight to behold. In the distance, a serene pond glistened under the fading light of day, with a small waterfall cascading into its clear waters. The sound of running water provided a soothing backdrop to their expedition. Amidst the sea of grass, wildflowers swayed gracefully in the summer breeze, their vibrant colors painting a tapestry of nature's artistry.

Beyond the open fields of North Cascadia, not too far in the distance, the ancient stone walls of Emernight's territory stood as a testament to history. Weathered and cracked, they whispered tales of bygone eras, guarding the secrets of the land they encircled. These walls bore witness to countless stories, both forgotten and remembered, and now they framed the backdrop of Crawford's pursuit.

The majestic gorge stretched out behind them, a breathtaking vista of rolling hills and cliffs. Waterfalls tumbled from the heights, their crystalline streams carving intricate patterns into the landscape before converging into the mighty river below. The sound of rushing water echoed through the gorge, a constant reminder of nature's ceaseless power and beauty.

Light, perched in her tree, had found another source of delight amidst this wild setting. The trees bore tasty fruits, and she indulged in their sweetness as she observed her friend's movements. The flavors burst on her tongue, a symphony of nature's offerings that added to the sensory tapestry of the moment.

Crawford mentioned that Saxon often came here to hunt, although he was apparently very bad at it. Light couldn't help but smile at the thought of the cat attempting to navigate these wilds, likely with all the grace of a stumbling fawn.

Light assumed he must like the area, howerver, living in a treehouse. This area was Mother Nature at her finest. Indeed, the surroundings were a testament to the raw beauty of the natural world.

As Light watched Crawford with a discerning eye, her observations were tinged with a touch of skepticism. He had been diligently aiming his wooden bow at several animals and letting arrows fly, but the result had been far from perfect. Arrows missed their marks, and the intended prey seemed to dart away at the last moment, leaving Crawford to curse under his breath.

A quizzical expression crossed Light's face as she pondered his skills. Is he really as good as he says he is? she wondered silently, a hint of doubt creeping into her thoughts. Crawford had often boasted about his hunting prowess, his words carrying an air of confidence. Yet, the reality of the hunt painted a different picture.