Marked by the Moon Tyrant

By the next morning, hunger gnawed at me like a living thing. Not the dull ache of missing a meal, but the deep, hollow kind that left my hands shaking and my mind drifting in and out of focus.

I needed proper food.

Not bitter leaves.

Not scraps of roots.

Something with substance-something my body could store.

I followed the stream deeper into the woods, hoping to find a larger clearing, or signs of wild fruit. The forest shifted around me as I walked-pines thinning into maple and birch, needles giving way to soft, rotting leaves. The air smelled richer here, warmer, with the faint hint of life hidden beneath winter's early breath.

As I rounded a bend in the trail, my breath stopped.

A thick cluster of bushes filled a small clearing, each one heavy with dark purple berries glistening under the early sunlight.

My knees nearly buckled from relief.

I moved toward them slowly, scanning the ground first. No animal tracks. No broken branches. No signs of recent foraging.

I reached out, plucked one berry, and examined it carefully. Smooth skin. Slightly oval shape. No white sap. No sharp, almond-like scent.

Safe.

My stomach made a desperate noise, and I didn't wait any longer. I popped the berry into my mouth.

The taste burst bitter and sweet across my tongue, the acidity making my eyes water. But hunger overpowered everything. I grabbed another handful and ate them slowly, focusing on the rhythm of chewing instead of letting myself devour too fast.

My body felt greedy, but I forced myself to pace each bite.

When I finally stopped, I sat on the ground, leaning back on my elbows as I breathed through the unfamiliar feeling of actually being full again-at least for now.

As the dizziness faded, a soft rustle stirred on the opposite side of the clearing.

I froze.

My heart thudded painfully as I pushed myself up onto my elbows, breath caught in my throat.

The bushes shifted again.

Not a rider.

Not a wolf.

Too light. Too cautious.

A small deer stepped out, its coat dappled with sunlight, ears flicking nervously as it scanned the air.

I stayed completely still.

The deer turned its head toward me. For a moment, our eyes met. Wide, dark, uncertain.

Animals never approached me this closely before-not in my last life. They always sensed the scent of Draven's court on me. The throne room. The warriors. The metallic tang of steel and power.

Even when I scrubbed myself raw, the smell clung.

But now...

The deer took a small, tentative step toward the berry bushes, keeping me in sight the entire time.

I lowered my gaze slightly, not wanting to intimidate it. My pulse softened as I watched it nibble the berries, its delicate jaw working gently.

Something inside my chest loosened.

A knot made of years of fear.

Memories of being "watched" by the castle wolves, their eyes sharp with a knowledge I didn't understand.

This was the first creature in a long time that didn't recoil from me.

For a moment, I let myself breathe.

The deer flicked an ear once, then darted away with a soft thud of hooves.

When the clearing fell quiet again, I swallowed the tightness rising in my throat.

Being treated like prey... was nothing new.

But finally not being treated like a threat?

That was new.

I wiped berry juice from my fingers, leaving faint stains on my skin.

If animals weren't avoiding me, then Draven would sense nothing unusual either. That was a small blessing. His palace hounds could track a scent across frozen rivers and snowstorms. If I carried even a whisper of his aura, his men would've found me already.

But I wasn't connected to him yet.

Not marked. Not claimed.

I was just one girl among thousands.

My hands trembled with the weight of that relief.

I gathered more berries into a piece of my torn nightshirt, tying the fabric into a makeshift pouch. As I worked, I kept scanning the trees, trying to shake off the eerie stillness that had crept in since the deer left.

The silence returned.

But not entirely unnatural this time.

More like the forest was settling again.

I stood, slinging the berry pouch over my shoulder, and prepared to leave the clearing-but then I paused.

Something was off.

A small detail.

A prickling sensation along my arms.

There-on the ground near the far bushes-was a patch of freshly turned earth.

Not from deer hooves.

Too precise.

A hand dug that.

My breath lodged in my throat.

Someone else had been here recently.

Not long ago.

My eyes swept the clearing more carefully. A snapped twig. A small indentation in the soft soil. A faint track-human or not, I couldn't tell.

I backed away slowly, each step deliberate. My fingers tightened around the walking stick as I retreated into thicker trees.

For a long moment, I stood hidden, watching the clearing.

Nothing moved.

No shadow. No breath of wind. No watching eyes.

But that patch of disturbed soil wouldn't leave my mind.

Someone was here.

Someone else living-or hiding-in these mountains.

Not the Alpha King's riders.

Someone who knew how to move silently.

Someone who dug into the earth with their hands.

My pulse quickened.

This valley wasn't as empty as I'd hoped.

I tightened my grip on my walking stick and turned back toward the thicker forest. Survival meant adjusting to new truths quickly.

I wasn't alone.

And that meant I needed to be even more careful.

Even more silent.

Even more unpredictable.

With my berry pouch bouncing lightly at my hip, I slipped back into the shadows of the trees, never letting my steps fall too loud.

The forest around me whispered nothing, but my instincts screamed the truth:

I was being watched.