Small Observations

The trail eventually led Durn to a small hunting camp tucked beneath the great trees.

It was little more than a few hide tents, a smoking fire, and several racks where strips of meat dried in the afternoon sun.

The hunters greeted him politely.

A lone tauren was not an unusual sight this far from Camp Mojache.

One of them offered him water.

Another shared a piece of smoked venison.

They spoke of ordinary things.

The weather.

The roads.

A family of wolves spotted farther east.

Nothing seemed out of place.

It was only as Durn prepared to leave that he asked, almost as an afterthought,

"Have the forests changed?"

The hunters looked at one another.

The eldest shrugged.

"They always change."

Durn nodded.

"They do."

For a moment, that seemed to be the end of it.

Then one of the younger hunters frowned.

"The owls."

Durn looked up.

"What about them?"

The hunter scratched his beard.

"I don't know."

He seemed almost embarrassed.

"They've moved."

"Moved?"

"They used to nest west of here."

He pointed vaguely toward the trees.

"Now they're farther north."

"Any reason?"

The hunter shook his head.

"No."

Another hunter laughed softly.

"They're birds."

"They fly."

The conversation drifted elsewhere.

No one thought much of it.

Neither did Durn.

Not yet.

Still...

As he walked away from the camp, he found himself looking toward the northern hills.

Owls moved.

Deer moved.

Boars moved.

None of it was unusual.

Not by itself.

Before sunset, he stopped beside a fallen log and opened his journal.

He added only two lines.

Owls nesting farther north.

No known cause.

He closed the journal.

The forest around him felt perfectly alive.

For the first time in several days...

that made him wonder.