The ravens’ calls became almost deafening, and as they approached a bend in the trail, Mary’s eyes caught a glimpse of something darker moving between the trees. Figures, shifting quickly, too large to be animals—too silent to be a normal traveler.

Her breath caught in her throat. "Papa..."

Harold, ever vigilant, sensed the change in the air. His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but firm. "Not now, lass. Just hold on tight."

The cart bumped and swayed as Laddie galloped down the path, pushing through the dense forest. Mary couldn’t help but glance behind them, her eyes scanning the thickening trees. The figures had disappeared, but she still felt watched—eyes hidden in the shadows, tracking their every move.

The ravens continued to follow, their wings beating the air like drums of an ominous warning. Harold clicked his tongue sharply and urged Laddie faster.

Suddenly, from deep within the forest, there came a low, eerie howl—a sound that made the hairs on the back of Mary’s neck stand on end. It was neither wolf nor animal, but something darker. Something that made the forest itself seem alive in a way that felt threatening.

"Papa... what was that?" Mary gasped, her voice trembling.

Harold didn’t answer at first, but Mary could see the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes darted between the path ahead and the trees on either side. The howls echoed again, and this time they were closer—too close.

"We're almost out, Mary," Harold gritted out. "Just a little further."

But as they neared the edge of the forest, the ravens' calls began to change. The air grew colder, and a heavy weight seemed to press down on them, thickening the atmosphere like a storm brewing in the distance. The sky darkened, even though it was still early afternoon.

And then, just as they reached the edge of the Ridge Forest, the sounds stopped.

Suddenly, there was silence.

Mary’s breath caught in her throat. The forest seemed to hold its breath with her, as if waiting for something. But when she looked to her father, she saw his face grim with understanding.

“We’re not alone,” Harold muttered, his hand never leaving the reins. “Stay close, Mary. Keep your eyes open.”

Laddie’s pace began to slow, her hooves no longer beating urgently against the ground, but instead moving with a heavy, measured step. The donkey seemed to sense the change in the air, her breath coming in soft puffs as they neared the edge of the forest. Mary felt the tension in the cart as it swayed with each step. The trees behind them were silent now, the ravens’ calls gone, but the oppressive feeling in the air lingered. She glanced nervously at her father, who was muttering something under his breath—something low and steady, as though trying to calm himself, or perhaps to call on something ancient for protection.

“Papa…?” Mary asked, her voice shaking.

Harold didn’t look at her, but his lips moved in a quiet prayer, the words a soft murmur against the wind. His eyes remained focused ahead, every muscle in his body taut with readiness.

Suddenly, a sharp, deafening BANG echoed through the trees—like the crack of thunder, though the sky had not changed. It seemed to come from deep within the forest, sending a wave of tension through the air. The ravens, who had been so unnervingly present just moments ago, took flight all at once, their wings beating wildly, scattering into the sky like a dark cloud fleeing from something terrifying.

Harold shouted, “Hiyyah!” his voice commanding, and with a firm pull on the reins, he urged Laddie forward once more.

The donkey broke into a sudden, fast trot, her hooves clattering against the path as she pushed forward with renewed speed. Mary held on tightly to the cart, her heart racing in her chest. They could feel the vibrations of the world around them change—like the forest had been holding its breath, and now, with that single, thunderous crack, it had released its grip on them.

And then, in a moment that felt like pure relief, the trees began to thin. The dense canopy above them started to open up, letting in the pale sunlight that bathed the path in warmth. The sound of the forest grew distant, replaced by the gentle rustle of grass and the soft hum of the breeze.

They were almost there.

Harold's grip on the reins loosened slightly as he let out a relieved breath. Mary blinked, her wide eyes filled with a mix of fear and gratitude, glancing behind them one last time to see the dark shadows of the forest fading away. The sign for Elysian Village, the comforting landmark that marked the edge of their home, was in sight.

As they crossed the threshold, the air seemed lighter, the weight of the forest’s presence lifting. The path ahead was bathed in the warm, golden glow of the late afternoon sun, and the familiar rolling hills and farmland of Elysian Village stretched out before them.

Harold exhaled deeply, a weary but content smile breaking across his face. “We’re safe, Mary,” he said, his voice still a little shaky but full of relief. “We made it.”

Laddie, now slowing to a gentle pace, carried them out of the forest and onto the familiar, smooth road that led home. Mary’s heart slowly began to calm, though the unsettling feeling of being watched still clung to her thoughts. She glanced back once more, but the forest now seemed peaceful—no more ominous sounds or strange eyes following them.

Her father, sensing the unease still lingering in her, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s over now, lass. Don’t let it trouble you.”

They arrived back at Elysian Village, the comforting sight of their home bringing a wave of relief. Harold let out a long sigh, leaning back slightly in the cart. "That’s a close one. Whoever shot that bang is a good lad," he said, patting Laddie’s neck as the donkey slowed down, easing into a steady pace.

Mary remained quiet, her gaze fixed on the edge of the forest as it faded into the distance. She saw him again—the lad with the ember eyes. Duncan. He had been standing just within the shadows of the trees, watching them leave. Her stomach twisted, but she chose to keep silent. That wasn’t what truly troubled her.

It wasn’t Duncan’s presence that lingered in her mind—it was the crows. Or rather, the ravens.

She turned to her father, her voice quiet but filled with curiosity. "Papa, how did you know those weren’t crows? How did you know they were ravens?"

Harold glanced at her, his expression softening for a moment. He didn’t answer immediately, instead guiding Laddie closer to the house. After a pause, he finally said, "There’s a difference, lass. Crows chatter, but ravens... when they gather like that, it’s never good. Means something dark is near, or someone."

"Can you tell me more, Papa?" Mary asked, her voice quiet but insistent as she looked up at him.

Harold hesitated, his brows furrowing as he placed a hand on Laddie’s reins. For a moment, it seemed he might brush off her question, but then he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly. "Alright, lass," he said, his tone low and serious, "but this isn’t something to take lightly."