Two friends find a strange footprint in the woods above their village and realise something ancient may be watching them.
Dusk was dropping fast over the village below Grove Hill, and the path through the woods had already turned blue with shadow. The trees stood close on either side, their leaves rubbing together in a low, restless murmur that made Michael quicken his pace. Beside him, Lena moved more slowly, her rucksack thumping against her back, stuffed with notes, sketches, and the kind of wild hope that made teachers smile and classmates laugh.
"If we find even one real trace," she muttered, pushing her glasses higher on her nose, "they'll stop saying it's just stories."
Michael was about to tell her not to expect too much when he stopped so abruptly that Lena nearly collided with him. Ahead of them, pressed deep into the moss, lay a footprint far too large to belong to any deer or bear. The shape was wrong in a way that made his skin tighten: almost human, but stretched at the toes, with long claw marks scoring the earth.
Lena dropped to her knees at once and pulled out her notebook. "Look at that," she whispered. "The legends said the Leshy could leave a sign when he wanted to warn someone."
The forest went still. Even the birds seemed to have vanished in a single breath. Michael looked from the print to the trees and noticed fresh cuts on the trunk beside him, sharp and pale against the bark, arranged in a pattern that looked disturbingly like runes. Something cold moved through the air, as if the woods had just realised they were being watched.
"This isn't a coincidence," Lena said, and for once her voice had lost its excitement.
Then, from somewhere behind them, came a rough, animal sound, half growl and half sigh. A heavy step cracked a branch. Michael grabbed Lena's wrist, but before he could pull her back, a dark shape slid between the trees and another shadow rose directly in front of their path.