They were in the woods now, Tessa walked ahead, just slightly, her steps light but steady. Ian followed close behind, adjusting the strap on his bag every few minutes like it had a personal vendetta against his shoulder.
They were talking — nothing serious, just... everything and nothing at once.
"You really packed a rifle?" Tessa said, glancing over her shoulder with a half-smirk.
Ian shrugged. "I like being overly prepared. You never know when a rogue squirrel’s gonna go feral."
She rolled her eyes. "We’re literally thirty minutes from town. The scariest thing out here is probably a lost hiker with no signal."
"That’s exactly the kind of person who would eat us first," he said, deadpan.
Tessa laughed, full and unfiltered. "God, you’re ridiculous."
He smiled, not saying anything back. Just glad to hear her laugh like that.
They passed a few wooden markers along the trail — faint carvings, numbers faded from weather and time. Tessa stopped to take a quick photo of one.
"You seem liked you do this a lot" Ian said, stretching his arms a little as he caught up.
She shook her head. "First real hike, actually. I always say I want to. Never do. Glad I dragged you along."
He gave her a sideways look. "You dragged me?"
"Well, you didn’t exactly leap at the idea."
"I’m leaping on the inside."
"Uh-huh. Sure." Content orıginally comes from novel-fire.ɴet
Tessa had paused again, crouched slightly, snapping a photo of a crooked tree where the bark peeled like thin old paper. She took her time, angling the shot, standing back, stepping in again.
"You’re basically documenting every plant in this forest," Ian said from behind her, half-smiling.
"Memories," she replied, straightening up. "Plus I like weird trees."
"Yeah. one." She pointed. "It looks like it’s leaning in to whisper secrets."
Ian gave it a sideways look. "You’ve been watching too many fantasy movies."
"Says the guy who packed a rifle for a nature stroll."
He lifted a hand in surrender. "Touché."
They walked a bit further before the conversation drifted again. It was that kind of walk — no agenda, no pressure. Just quiet movement, words tumbling out when they felt like it.
Tessa kicked a small stone off the path. "So, question."
"If we, like... had to hunt something. You know. If we got stuck out here for whatever reason. Could you skin it?"
Ian blinked. "What, an animal?"
He laughed. "Alright, alright. Yeah, I could. I mean, not like perfect, survival-show-style, but I’ve done it before."
"My uncle used to take me hunting when I was a teenager. Way out in the hills. Not my favorite pastime, but I picked up a few things."
She looked impressed. "Okay, Mr. Wilderness."
He grinned. "I’ll have you skinning squirrels by sundown."
She gagged a little. "Gross."
He slowed down and stepped off the main trail a bit, pointing at a patch of soft dirt under a bush. "See that? That’s a trail. Rabbits, maybe. You can tell by the way the brush is pushed back, and the shape of the indent in the soil."
Tessa followed behind him, crouching down to get a closer look.
"Here," he said, pointing again. "That’s from a stag. Hoofprint. See the split in the middle?"
"Whoa. I never would’ve noticed that."
"It’s subtle. You start noticing it after you walk enough of these trails."
They moved slowly now, Ian occasionally stopping to point something out — broken branches, disturbed leaves, claw marks on a tree that might’ve been old, maybe not. The further they went, the quieter things got.
Tessa glanced around. "It’s peaceful out here."
Ian nodded. "Yeah. You start hearing your own thoughts after a while."
"Is that a good thing?"
He smiled without answering.
A little while passed with nothing but the sounds of their footsteps and the occasional bird call overhead.
Then Ian held up a hand and stopped.
"What?" Tessa whispered, suddenly alert.
He didn’t answer right away. He crouched slowly, reaching out and brushing a patch of dirt with his fingers.
He looked up, scanning the low brush ahead.
"There," he said softly.
A few meters ahead, barely visible through a cluster of ferns and bramble, sat a small hare. Still. Ears twitching. Chest rising and falling.
Its fur was a dusty brown, blending perfectly with the forest floor. It looked like it had been frozen mid-movement, caught between fight or flight.
Tessa took a careful step forward, barely breathing.
"Don’t move too fast," Ian murmured. "They spook easy."
She nodded, her eyes wide.
Unfortunately, her foot came down on a dry branch, and it cracked, sharp and loud in the quiet of the woods.
The hare jerked upright, eyes wide, then bolted.
"Crap," she whispered.
They both watched it dash through the underbrush — fast, fluid, and then veer suddenly toward a gnarled, massive tree just off the trail. Its bark was dark, almost black in some places, twisted with age. Branches curled out like reaching arms. A yew. Old. Older than anything else around them.
The hare made a straight line for it.
And then... it was gone.
It didn’t vanish behind the tree. It didn’t disappear into any burrow or hole. One second it was running, the next — nothing. Air.
Tessa blinked. "Where did it...?"
Ian was already stepping closer, brows pulled in. "I didn’t see a hole."
"Maybe under the roots?" she asked, moving with him.
They circled the base of the tree slowly, scanning the thick tangle of old roots and the soft moss-covered earth. Ian knelt, ran a hand along the bark, pressed lightly into the ground. Nothing. No burrow, no path, not even disturbed leaves.
Tessa frowned. "That’s weird, right?"
"Yeah," Ian muttered. He stood up slowly, eyes still on the trunk. "Really weird."
His head tilted slightly, like he was listening to something far off.
Tessa caught the look. "What?"
"You don’t hear that?" he asked quietly.
"That sound. Like... whooshing. Like wind, but not wind. It’s—" He trailed off, staring at the tree now.
She stepped beside him. "I hear birds. Leaves. That’s it."
His fingers brushed along the bark again, slower this time. He took a step closer, almost like he didn’t realize he was moving. The wind had died completely. Or maybe it hadn’t — maybe everything else had just gone still.
"I think it’s calling," he said softly.
Tessa’s stomach dropped a little. "What?"
"I don’t know. I just... I feel like it’s calling me."
"Okay, stop. You’re creeping me out," she said with a forced laugh, reaching for his arm.
But before her hand could reach him—
Ian placed his palm flat against the tree.
There was no flash. No dramatic sound. Just a soft, quick ripple in the air — like heat rising from pavement — and then he was gone.
Backpack. Rifle. Jacket. Ian.
Gone. Like the hare. Tessa froze.
It took her brain a full second to process what she had — or hadn’t — seen.
"Ian?" she said, louder now. "Ian!"
No reply. No rustling. Not even an echo.
Just the wind picking back up again through the trees.
She stumbled back a step, eyes wide, mouth half open. Her heart slammed into her ribs like it was trying to run without her.
"Ian?" she said again, voice cracking.
She looked around, up, down, behind her, as if he might reappear from some trick of the light.
But there was only the tree.
And the place where he had stood.
And the awful, deafening silence he left behind.