Talon was asleep again.Head tipped back, gourd dangling from his fingers, the scent of old liquor heavy in the air.The forest shifted softly around him—wind through branches, insects chirping.
Then voices.
He cracked one eye open, annoyed. In the distance, through the trees, men were speaking in low tones, trying and failing to stay quiet.
"…heard it's nesting in the stone‑jaw cave…"
"…information guild swore on their blood, you know what that means."
"…rare meat, said to melt on your tongue, worth a hundred gold a bite…"
Talon sighed and took another swig. Their words drifted on the breeze, pulling at his attention like a lazy tide.
Rare meat.Delicious.
His stomach growled.He frowned, rubbing his face. "Delicious…?" he muttered, sitting up. The men's chatter faded as they moved deeper into the woods, but their excitement lingered like a trail of crumbs.
Talon stared at the empty gourd in his hand. "Tch. Running low anyway…"He stretched, bones cracking, and rose. His sword clicked softly as he slung it over his shoulder. He didn't rush. He never rushed.But he began walking—slow, steady, following the faint sound of their conversation.