They sent me out on hunting detail with Gabriel and Anton—two guys I barely know, but out here, trust is a luxury we can’t wait to build. We broke camp at first light and headed north in search of boar. They’re easy to track, noisy and destructive, and travel in packs.
By mid-morning, we found them. A small group rooting around near the Galeries Lafayette, their tusks scraping against the cracked stone. Their skin had a strange sheen to it, and some of them had moss growing along their backs.
Everything here changes, even the animals.
Gabriel volunteered to take the shot. He crouched low, moving silently through the long grass. Anton and I hung back to keep watch. The forest seemed calm for a moment—no snapping branches, no distant howls. Just the rustle of wind through the grass.
Then Gabriel fired.
The boar scattered, squealing, but something else happened, too. The grass he was crouching in… moved. Not with the wind, but with purpose. It stiffened into a thousand little razors.
Gabriel didn’t even have time to scream.
When it was over, the grass…relaxed…I guess it is the word, swaying gently as if nothing had happened. Gabriel was gone, shredded, his blood soaking into the earth.
I’ve never seen the forest do that before.
We stood there for what felt like hours, staring at the spot where Gabriel had been. Eventually, Anton snapped out of it, muttering something about finishing the job. We tied up the boar Gabriel shot and started dragging it back to camp.
The forest doesn’t just kill. It punishes.
We got our boar. But we’re down a man.