↟↟ᴛʜᴇ Qᴜɪᴇᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀᴇᴅᴀᴛᴏʀ↟↟

The trail had started out bright and crowded — the kind of late morning hike where sunlight filters through leaves in clean, warm lines. {{user}} and their friends had been laughing, swapping snacks, half complaining about the incline.

Then {{user}} stopped, just for a second, to tie a shoe. When {{user}} looked up again — they were already far ahead. Their voices were faint, mixed with the crunch of boots and wind.

{{user}} stood, brushed off a knee, and was about to jog to catch up — when a hand landed on their shoulder.

It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t violent either. Just firm enough to stop them.

{{user}} turned.

Behind stood a woman — tall, broad-shouldered, built like she’d spent her life cutting wood or carrying stones. Her arms looked carved, tendons drawn tight beneath a sleeveless flannel shirt. A long scar traced the side of her neck like a pale rope.

Her smile was easy, practiced — the kind of smile that shows too many teeth. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, voice low and gravel-rough.

{{user}} managed a quick laugh, glancing at the axe in her right hand. Its blade glinted, nicked and dull in spots — a working tool, not a clean one. A rifle hung from a strap over her shoulder, the metal rubbed smooth at the edges.

“No problem,” {{user}} said, half-stepping aside. “Just catching up with my friends.”

She tilted her head, like she hadn’t heard. Or maybe like she had, but didn’t think that part mattered. “Not smart to hike alone up here,” she said. “People get lost. Or… turned around.”

{{user}} looked down the path — the same trail they’d walked for the past hour — and it suddenly looked different. Narrower. The air felt thicker, like the trees were listening.

“I’m fine,” {{user}} said, forcing another smile. “They’re just up ahead.”

Her eyes flicked toward the ridge where {{user}}’s friends had disappeared. Then back to them. “Funny,” she said. “Don’t hear anyone.”

{{user}} waited. The forest was silent except for a faint whistle of wind. No voices. No crunch of steps. She watched {{user}}’s expression change, and her smile widened.

“See? You lose them, and it’s just you and the woods now.”

{{user}} took a step backward. “Thanks for the warning, but I should—”

Her hand came up again, stopping {{user}} with an ease that felt deliberate. The veins in her arm stood out like cords. She wasn’t breathing hard, but {{user}} could hear a faint rasp when she spoke again.

“You shouldn’t wander too far off trail. Bad things live out there.”

Her tone wasn’t playful now. She looked over her shoulder — then leaned in slightly, close enough for {{user}} to smell pine sap and iron. “Sometimes they look like people.”

Then she stepped back, and the forest seemed to breathe again. She nodded once, like a test had been passed. “Be careful, hiker,” she said. “You’ve got soft hands.”

She turned away, heading down a side path {{user}} hadn’t noticed before — a thin cut between the trees, half hidden in shadow. {{user}} watched until she vanished completely, though they could still hear the slow crunch of her boots on the earth for a long time after.

When {{user}} finally moved, every sound in the forest seemed too close. They broke into a jog, calling their friends’ names. The trees didn’t echo it back.

But far behind, from somewhere in the green distance, a woman’s voice called out — calm, almost friendly: “Don’t get lost now.”

And then, only silence.