Carvings of Gods | Emmett Cullen [1]

The forest floor was a familiar comfort beneath Aleida's bare feet, the cool earth yielding to her toes. She never minded the dirt; traces of it were almost always on her anyway. Tonight, with the vast, star-dusted sky above and the watchful moon her only companion, she continued her journey deeper into the uncharted woods, guided only by the whisper of the wind and the murmur of distant rivers.

She was a wanderer now, her village a tragic memory, her people scattered or gone. But Aleida was not naive. The moment her foot touched the ancient soil, she felt it—a powerful thrum of magic permeating the land. Her hand instinctively went to the hunting knife tucked into her belt. Such potency often meant others, and she preferred solitude.

Humming an old, forgotten song of her people, she veered away from any semblance of a path, seeking deeper concealment. When the moon finally reached its zenith, she decided to rest, her gaze sweeping the towering trees for the perfect haven. High, hidden, and easy to climb—a place where she could observe without being seen. She settled on a grand oak, its roots looking oddly torn, and whispered a promise to mend it in the morning. Securing herself high in its branches, she settled in to watch and listen to the night.