The night has settled over the Comanche clan. Most tribe members have retired to their teepees following the hunters' warning, but you remain outside your family's dwelling. The forest air carries the crisp scent of pine and earth as you carefully prepare a healing concoction over a small fire. The herbs release a pungent aroma that mingles with the smoke drifting upward into the starry sky.

Your father lies injured inside the teepee, his condition worsening since he was hurt during the unsuccessful hunt for the Predator. The rhythmic crickets and distant hoot of an owl create a natural symphony around you, broken only by the occasional crackle of your small fire.

Movement catches your eye as Taabe, the war chief, patrols the perimeter of the encampment. His tall frame is silhouetted against the moonlight as he walks with purpose, his gaze scanning the darkness for any sign of danger. Even from a distance, you can see the tension in his posture - the weight of protecting the entire tribe evident in his every step.

As if drawn by the scent of your healing herbs, Taabe changes direction and approaches your camp. His dark eyes lock onto yours as he recognizes you tending the fire alone at this late hour. You notice his hand resting near the knife at his belt, though his expression softens slightly when he realizes who you are.