The Trail Knows Your Name

Chapter 29: The Trail Knows Your Name

The next morning, Marron's hands still smelled like Mokko's hot chocolate. The unique mix of woodsmoke, dark chocolate, cream, and cinnamon clung to her skin. She felt comforted, but couldn't help feeling her stomach tighten as she adjusted the straps on her pack.

The scent drifted in the wind, but it couldn't erase the memory of dozens of yellow eyes. When she saw shadows using bones as tableware, she shook her head.

I'm awake. It's not a dream.

The soothing aroma of chocolate made the nightmare look fuzzy along the edges, like an old photograph. But pieces still clung to her, like grease on her soul.

Still, Marron tried to relax and focused on the sound of her fellow chefs packing up. She tightened the buckles on her food cart and tried not to shiver.

But Lucy noticed. The slime tapped a tendril around Marron's wrist to get her attention.

"Yeah?"

Lucy cooed and wrapped her tendril around Marron's wrist like a bracelet.

It was like she was saying, "I'm here."

Even if her heart wasn't in it, Marron smiled, and real warmth pooled in her chest since they'd come to the battlefield.

Frostfall looked small in the predawn light. The market stalls were shuttered, the snow still faintly pink from where mana had burned the ground. It all looked too fragile, like something a strong gust could erase.

Her system pinged.

[Route Registered: Whisperwind Trail]

[Warning: Generalist-Linked Activity Detected Along Route]

[Additional Alert: 3 Unaccounted Disappearances, Last 60 Days]

She swallowed. Her fingers hovered over the dismiss button.

The observer from last night—are they already ahead of us on the trail?

A voice cut through the mist. "Louvel."

Marron turned to see Lila approaching, her injured arm now in a sturdier sling. She pressed something wrapped in oiled parchment into Marron's palm.

"These stones come from a dish we use in scent-tracking trials," Lila said. "If someone else is cooking nearby—especially if they've eaten your food before—they'll trigger. Be careful. Your meals don't just nourish anymore. They echo."

Before Marron could respond, another voice muttered behind her. "Hope she doesn't bring trouble to Whisperwind, too."

She didn't turn. The words clung worse than snow.

Mokko appeared beside her, hoisting his gear with a grunt. "You ready to be hated by people who haven't even met you? Because after yesterday, your name's traveling faster than your feet."

Marron looked at him, the knot in her stomach twisting tighter. "Do I have a choice?"

"Nope," Mokko said, and started walking.

They moved quietly.

By noon, the frostbitten path had given way to shallow ridges. Marron cooked only once, but she didn't just make food—she laid traps.

Strong-scented curry leaves to mask their scent. Bitterstock bulbs that would spoil the emotional imprint of her trail meals.

Lucy's slime basket stored a copy of their safe camp aura, like a seal against intruders.

[Path Cooking Passive Unlocked: Long-Travel Optimization]

[Bonus Added: Signature Masking Protocol]

Your dishes can now lie about their maker's emotional state.

When did I start thinking like a fugitive?

She cracked four eggs in a pan to make a breakfast omelet. She filled it with cheese, tomatoes, and two chopped-up Duskbeast sausages. Marron was forever thankful there had been a butcher among their camp.

I really just wanted the Duskbeast used up. Especially since I know where they came from.

When Mokko took a bite, he froze.

"Mm. This tastes like..." his brows knitted together. "the morning I left to become a culinary guardian. The last good day with my family."

Marron blinked.

She hadn't meant for that.

"...what? Sorry, that wasn't supposed to happen."

Lucy glowed softly, projecting faint aurora-like colors above the food. She was learning to translate emotional residue into something visual. Marron felt her throat tighten.

"It's not memory," she said, mostly to herself. "It's the idea of one."

Mokko didn't reply, but his second bite was slower.

Reverent.

Later, as they approached the town's edge, they encountered a traveling caravan.

A beastkin trader with long jackal ears sniffed the air as they passed. "That stew's not yours. It listens too hard."

Marron frowned. "What?"

"You cook like someone who's afraid of silence," the trader said. "Like you're waiting for something to answer back."

[Field Cook Reputation: Whisperwind Traders +5]

[Alert: Reputation Tracking Detected by Unknown Observer]

Marron's stomach dropped. Lucy tightened around her waist.

From Marron's perspective, the feeling of being watched simply disappeared as the crowd shifted around them. But unknown to her, a jackal scout had spotted the shadow figure lurking at the caravan's edge—pupils dilated with fear, retreating backward into the crowd. The scout's hackles raised, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

The shadow figure melted away only when the beastkin's glare became too intense to bear.

By dusk, they'd stopped near a fallen pine for rest. Lucy mimicked Mokko's frown with a wobbly slime-face. Marron laughed for real.

"Maybe we're overthinking it," she said. "Maybe some threats are just... threats."

Mokko actually relaxed a little. He started telling her about pack-cuisine customs. How trust between diners had to be proven through flavor transparency.

She liked hearing him talk. It felt normal.

Then the system glitched.

[TR--] [--ED] [CONSUME--] [--ER SIGNATURE ACQUIRED]

Marron stared at the fragmented text, her blood cooling. The notifications flickered like dying flames before vanishing entirely.

Lucy recoiled beside her, tendrils twitching. She turned away from the wind, as if she could taste something wrong drifting toward them on the evening air.

Marron's stew that night? It didn't taste like comfort. It tasted like hunger.

Not hers. Not Mokko's.

Someone else's.

The evidence piled quickly.

Burned dumpling wrappers near their old camps. Too many. One every half-day's walk, growing fresher.

Lucy projected a memory-image: the hooded figure from Frostfall, standing over one of their abandoned fire pits.

The figure lifted one of Marron's dishes to their face, first tasting the air around it like a wine connoisseur, then drinking in the steam with slow, deliberate breaths.

Reverently. Hungrily.

Mokko returned from a perimeter check, voice flat.

"Three camps. Too neat. They're not following us. They're herding us."

Marron's throat went dry. "Herding us where?"

"Toward Whisperwind." His ears flicked toward the dark ridgeline ahead. "Toward something they won't follow us into."

The realization hit her like ice water.

Someone wants me to reach the beastkin. But they're afraid to follow me there themselves.

The thought should have been comforting. Instead, it made her skin crawl. What kind of protection came with its own price?

She was being hunted.

But not just hunted. Studied. Savored.

The system whispered:

[Territory Analysis: Beastkin Border]

[Warning: Pack-Bond Cuisine Required for Safe Passage]

[Note: Predators Historically Avoid Pack-Linked Zones]

They were being driven toward Whisperwind. Toward something the observer wouldn't—or couldn't—follow.

Marron looked ahead into the wild darkness. Lucy was already pointing toward the ridgeline, her surface rippling with nervous energy. Even she could sense something vast and watchful waiting in the forest beyond. The pack.

Mokko's voice was a low growl. "We move now. No stops. Not until we see the sentries."

The cold wind howled through the trees. Marron clutched the oiled parchment Lila had given her, fingers trembling.

Someone was tracking her through her own food.

And the only thing more dangerous than that... was whatever made them too afraid to follow her to safety.

Tomorrow, she would discover if the protection of wolves was worth the price of joining the hunt.