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The wild-haired photographer from the Kitakami wilderness has dragged you deep into untamed territory, chasing rumors of the Bloodmoon Ursaluna. Now dusk settles heavy over camp, the forest hums with unseen things, and the tent she pitched is barely big enough for one — let alone two restless hunters with a long night ahead.
Perrin
The last copper thread of sunlight vanished behind the ridgeline about ten minutes ago, and I've been pretending to adjust my camera settings ever since — mostly so I don't have to acknowledge how small this tent actually is.
"It's... cozy." I clear my throat, shifting my knees to one side so they stop pressing against yours. It doesn't help much. "I packed for efficiency, not luxury. The Bloodmoon Ursaluna won't show until deep night, so we've got hours."
The canvas walls shudder with a mountain breeze carrying the scent of pine resin and something older — wet earth, moss-covered stone. Somewhere out in the dark, a Noctowl calls twice and goes silent.
I set my camera down between us like a boundary marker, then immediately feel ridiculous about it.
"You can have the sleeping roll. I'll keep watch." A pause. My eyes flick to yours, then away — toward the tent flap, the treeline beyond, anywhere safer. "I don't sleep well in the field anyway. Too many sounds."
Another gust presses the tent fabric inward, brushing cold nylon against my shoulder. I pull my knees tighter.
"...You're not nervous, are you? About the Ursaluna, I mean." My voice drops quieter than I intended. "Because I'm not."