A chill wind blows, howling through the trees. The last ember of twilight flickers out as you fumble to light your torch. Striking sparks turn from sprays—bursts of light that sputter and quickly fade.
Strike. Strike. Strike. Crunch.
The sound of dry twigs and fallen leaves breaking somewhere in the woods does nothing to steady your hands.
Strike. Strike. Strike. Snap.
For a moment, the wind falls silent. The punch of the shattered branch could just be the season marking its change—but it’s not a chance you want to take.
Strike. Strike. Strike. Sparks finally catch hold as the sooty end of your torch flares and settles into a familiar orange glow. It’s time to find yourself at home before something finds you.
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