THORNE POINT OF VIEW

Night had already swallowed the forest when I left the old man’s clearing.

The moon hung high above the towering trees, pale and watchful, its cold light spilling through the thick canopy in fractured beams that painted the forest floor silver. Shadows stretched long and restless between the trunks, and the wind whispered quietly through the branches like voices passing secrets from tree to tree.

I had waited for darkness deliberately.

Traveling unseen was easier when ...