By the time Nussudle rode out alone, the morning light had fully claimed the forest.
Mist still clung to the roots of the Home Tree, curling lazily around buttress trunks and low-hanging vines, but the canopy above glowed with soft colour as Pandora woke properly. Nussudle guided his direhorse along a familiar path at first, letting the animal set the pace. The bond between them was still new, still fragile in places, but it felt steadier with every ride.
He loved this part most—the quiet before responsibility caught up.
The direhorse moved with a rolling, powerful gait, six legs finding purchase where Nussudle would have struggled even to walk. Through the bond, he felt the creature's confidence, its awareness of the land, the subtle shifts in balance as it adjusted to roots and stones. The system flickered faintly at the edge of his thoughts, present but unobtrusive, as though content to observe.
Nussudle did not push far at first. He circled the Home Tree, riding paths used by hunters and gatherers, nodding to those he passed. Eventually, though, curiosity tugged at him—as it always did.
He turned away from the main routes.
The forest thickened almost immediately. Light fractured through leaves and bioluminescent veins, dappling the ground in shifting patterns. The air felt heavier here, charged with something old and watchful. Nussudle slowed the direhorse, resting a hand against its neck, both of them listening.
Nothing felt wrong.
So he continued.
The land opened into a broad clearing carved by time rather than intention. The ground dipped gently, churned and uneven, as though something massive had passed through recently. Nussudle frowned, scanning the area. Through the bond, the direhorse's awareness sharpened, muscles tensing slightly.
Then the ground moved.
At first, Nussudle thought it was an illusion—a trick of light and shadow. Then the earth shifted, pulled forward in a slow, deliberate drag that sent vibrations rippling through the soil.
A hammerhead titanothere emerged from the treeline.
It was enormous, its bulk dwarfing even the largest direhorses. Twin hammer-like protrusions framed its skull, heavy and scarred, its single visible eye dark and intelligent. With a low, rumbling snort, it planted its front left leg and dragged it backward, tearing a deep furrow through the ground.
Nussudle's blood ran cold.
The direhorse felt it too. Fear surged through the bond—raw, instinctive, urgent. The titanothere lowered its head, muscles bunching beneath thick hide as it prepared to charge.
"N-no," Nussudle breathed, hauling gently on the reins. "Easy. Easy."
The system flared to life unbidden.
Threat Detected: Hammerhead TitanothereRecommendation: Evade
Helpful.
Useless.
The titanothere charged.
The ground shook violently as it surged forward, each step a thunderous impact. Nussudle kicked his heels in, and the direhorse leapt into motion, veering sharply left. Branches snapped as they tore through undergrowth, the titanothere's roar echoing behind them.
Panic clawed at Nussudle's chest.
The direhorse was fast—but not that fast.
A shadow streaked overhead.
"MOVE!"
Eytukan's voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
Nussudle glanced up just in time to see his brother burst through the foliage astride his ikran, wings beating hard as he banked sharply. Eytukan did not hesitate. He drew his bow mid-flight, muscles taut, movements precise despite the speed and danger.
The arrow flew.
It struck the titanothere square in the eye.
The beast screamed—a deafening, enraged sound that vibrated through bone and bark alike. It reared back, thrashing its head violently, blood and ichor spraying as it stumbled. One eye ruined, it faltered—but it did not fall.
"KEEP GOING!" Eytukan shouted, circling overhead. "DON'T STOP!"
The titanothere charged again.
Blind in one eye, furious beyond reason, it followed sound and vibration now, smashing through trees in its pursuit. The direhorse surged forward, legs burning, breath coming in heavy bursts that Nussudle felt as keenly as his own.
Branches whipped past. Roots rose without warning. Nussudle leaned low, trusting the direhorse to choose the path as he clung on with everything he had.
Eytukan harried the beast from above, loosing arrows to distract it, to guide its rage away from a straight line. But even wounded, the titanothere was relentless.
The forest thinned.
Too quickly.
Nussudle saw the cliff a heartbeat before the direhorse did.
His stomach dropped.
The ground ended abruptly ahead, falling away into open air. Beyond it, mist rose in thick, swirling columns, the roar of water crashing up from far below.
"TURN!" Nussudle shouted, though the direhorse already knew.
The direhorse banked right at the last possible moment, skidding dangerously close to the edge. Its hooves dug into the soil, muscles screaming in protest as it veered away.
The titanothere did not follow.
It skidded to a halt at the cliff's edge, snorting furiously, its remaining eye fixed on the space where prey had been moments before. It stamped once, twice—then stopped, confused by the sudden absence of sound and vibration.
Because Nussudle was falling.
The direhorse had turned—but the ground beneath Nussudle's feet had given way. One moment he was gripping the saddle; the next, there was nothing beneath him but air.
The world slowed.
Mist swallowed him whole, cold and wet against his skin. The roar of the waterfall grew deafening as he plummeted, limbs flailing uselessly. Panic gave way to a strange, hollow calm as gravity claimed him completely.
Water slammed into him like a living wall.
The impact drove the breath from his lungs, dragging him under in a violent rush of bubbles and darkness. For a terrifying moment, there was only pressure and noise and the frantic beat of his heart.
Then, hands—strong, sure—caught him.
The world broke the surface again in a spray of water and light. Nussudle coughed violently, clinging instinctively as Eytukan hauled him close, the ikran hovering with powerful wingbeats just above the churning pool.
"I've got you," Eytukan said fiercely, breathless but steady. "I've got you."
They landed on a slick rock shelf near the base of the falls, water cascading around them in thunderous sheets. Nussudle collapsed to his knees, shaking uncontrollably, lungs burning as he dragged in air.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Eytukan grabbed him by the shoulders. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, fear bleeding through his anger. "You could have been killed."
Nussudle swallowed hard, eyes stinging—not just from water. "I didn't know," he said hoarsely. "I thought I was far enough out."
Eytukan exhaled sharply, pulling him into a brief, crushing embrace before releasing him again. "The forest does not warn you twice," he said more quietly. "You were lucky."
Nussudle nodded, staring at the water swirling around his hands.
The system flickered once, then dimmed.
Luck, he thought, was not something he wanted to rely on again.
Above them, the waterfall roared on—indifferent, eternal—while far above, the forest reclaimed its silence.
Eytukan did not let Nussudle ride back.
Instead, he secured him carefully against his chest and guided the ikran upward, away from the waterfall and back through the forest canopy. Nussudle was too exhausted to argue. His body ached in places he did not yet fully understand, and every movement sent a dull throb through his ribs and shoulders. He clung to Eytukan's harness, eyes half-lidded, watching the forest blur past beneath them.
When they reached the Home Tree, the village was already stirring.
Word travelled fast among the People. By the time Eytukan landed, elders and hunters were waiting, their expressions tight with concern. Nussudle was guided gently but firmly toward the central fire, where warmth and light pushed back the creeping chill still clinging to him.
He sat heavily on a woven mat as elders knelt around him, their hands practiced and sure. Cool salves were pressed into scrapes and bruises, and herbs were applied to swelling muscles. Someone clicked softly in disapproval at his state, but no one raised their voice.
Eytukan settled beside him, silent now, eyes fixed on the flames.
As the fire crackled and the elders worked, Nussudle felt the weight of the day finally settle. The forest had spared him—but it had also taught him. And this time, the lesson would not fade with the pain.