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The Black Rabbit reminded me that memory can be a trail of its own. I had already searched the rabbit caves while hunting the Ravenous Bird and found no sign of it there. Yet while traveling the woodlands for the Frost Butterfly, I remembered passing places where black rabbits might thrive. So I returned to the woodlands, mounted my panther, and searched with purpose. After passing many rabbits and black squirrels, I came upon old ruins spread across the land. Broken stone, fallen timber, brambles, and shadowed gaps made the place ideal shelter. To most, it was ruin. To a tracker, it was a home. I walked the perimeter slowly, studying the ground for prints, muddy trails, broken brush, or fur caught on thorns. Near a large bramble patch, I found small paths leading in and out, marked clearly by rabbit tracks. I set two snares along those paths and baited them with slices of fresh apple I had gathered in the forest. Then I hid behind a fallen piece of masonry and waited. Before long, the Black Rabbit darted from the trees. It moved too quickly to notice the danger. The snare caught firm, the sapling snapped upright, and the hunt ended at once. From that trail I learned that a Ranger who remembers where he has walked may better understand where the next trail begins. The final trail was unlike the others. It led me not to a beast of the wild, but to a thing that should not walk at all. The Pale Zombie is a known enemy of the kingdoms, found in the haunted houses of both Buya and Kugnae. I chose Buya, for that city holds a special place in my heart, and I wished to remove such a taint from its lands. The trail began near the western gate. There were no prints at first, no broken branches, and no disturbed soil. Only the faint smell of rot and death upon the wind. As I pushed north, the lush life of Buya slowly gave way to blight. The trees grew barren, the air thickened, and the wailing of the dead moved through empty limbs. Some trails are marked by decay. I reached the haunted house, drew my sword, and kicked through the boarded door. The stench of festering wounds struck me at once. In the gloom stood the Pale Zombie, pale green and covered in scabs and wounds. It turned toward me with a mindless moan and limped forward. I stood my ground and let it come close. Then I vanished. Confused, the creature searched left and right, but the moment had already passed beyond its reach. I struck from ambush with Hunter?s Moon and laid it low with one clean sweep of my blade. As I stepped back into the sunlight, I felt the warmth upon my face and the foul air behind me fade. From that trail I learned that not every quarry belongs to the natural order. Some things are tracked not for food, knowledge, or balance, but because their presence wounds the land. A Ranger must know how to read corruption as surely as tracks in mud or snow. When I returned from these five trails, I carried more than proof of completed tasks. I carried reminders. The Ravenous Bird reminded me to listen. The Snow Ogre reminded me to prepare. The Frost Butterfly reminded me to reason. The Black Rabbit reminded me to remember. The Pale Zombie reminded me to serve. Tracking is often spoken of as the act of following. Yet I have found it to be something deeper: the practice of understanding movement, need, fear, hunger, shelter, season, silence, and decay. A footprint may show where something has gone. But the trail, if read with patience, may reveal why. And sometimes, if we are wise enough to listen, it may reveal where we ourselves are meant to walk next. Cian ?Wise? Deluge The Grey Fox Tracker Of Buya | |