Predator

Zarah and the young troll didn't hesitate.

There was no silent agreement, no words exchanged—just one, primal understanding between prey: run and do not look back.

And that's exactly what they did.

Zarah crashed through the underbrush, her breath ragged, the forest whipping past in a blur of motion and panic. Every step jolted through her legs as her feet pounded the cold, damp earth, slick with moss and layers of rotting leaves.

Her bow was clutched tight in one hand, more like a lifeline than a weapon at this point—because she knew damn well she wouldn't get a shot off before whatever was chasing after her pounced on her. Her lungs burned. Every gasp dragged in the metallic taste of fear mixed with wet bark and decaying soil.

Behind her, the young troll lumbered in escape, its movements heavy but determined. Despite its shorter stride and bulkier frame, it tried to keep up.