Let it be known that I never asked for the forest to become more alive.
It was already too alive. It had breathing mushrooms, glaring frogs, and plants with opinions. But no, apparently that wasn't enough. Now the trees were watching us.
Not metaphorically. Literally. I looked up, and there were patterns carved high into the trunks—spirals, notches, geometric lines like a language that forgot how to be readable. They hadn't been there a few hours ago.
I stared at one particularly jagged symbol about fifteen kobolds above my head.
"I don't like that it's blinking," I said.
"It's not blinking," Tinker replied automatically.
The mark pulsed faintly. Not like light. More like heat behind the eyes.
Tinker stared up at it. "...Correction noted."
The path had vanished an hour ago. Now we were just following the half-elves as they moved silently through thicker and thicker brush. Even the squad was quiet. Not disciplined. Just... unsettled.
