Sunlight jabbed at Cassandra’s eyes as they leapt toward Kenna’s ascent. The bird of omen soared, high above the thick of the woods. Hand against brow, Cassandra squinted, following the flight of the blood-red raven – a crimson spot passing through cotton wool clouds. Musing the beauty of the red bird’s flight, Cassandra was lost in the moment – that is, until Kenna squawked again, ripping her from the daydream… with a warning?

The young girl’s sight fell to the treeline. A jarring shift from bright to the sudden dark of the forest, her eyes were awash with shadow. Did that tree just move? No. There’s no wind, so how could it? But then… why was there rustling?

As her vision cleared, she caught movement once more, this time accompanied by the clear silhouette of something stalking the bush. Rustle into screech, the brush erupted, ravaged leaves and splintered wood gushing from it. Faster than she could make sense of it, the thing (a limb? of wood?), made swipe for her head.