The trio hobbled through the forest, Trat’catha more dragging the others than they themselves doing any of their own walking. They heard the heavy footfalls of people running toward them from camp and let out a sigh of relief as Thu’lain, Hal, and Hret came bursting through the foliage with weapons at the ready.

“It’s over, the apex is dead. Help me carry them, please.” Trat’catha braced under his two injured companions, who groaned and chuckled in equal measures. Hal and Hret both rushed forward with anxious steps.

“He’s lost a lot of blood! Quickly, we have to treat these wounds!” Hal hurriedly ordered and Hret obeyed, each one tucking themselves under one of Tu’lar’s arm.

“Oh, this is nothing. I’ll be fine in a few hours.” Tu’lar smiled through his weary expression, the blood already drying on his body as his numerous wounds began to seal. He still didn’t struggle when they lifted him up and started to carry him. “Thanks, though, feeling a bit tired.” Tu’lar let out a big yawn as Hret and Hal shook their heads, murmuring about crazy elves.

“Tin’lo, you’ve seen better days.”

Thu’lain helped Trat’catha to carry Tin’lo, who laughed weakly, but was too tired for anything else.

“Was it just one?”

“Yes, I think it would have been a challenge for you, Thu, but too bad you missed it.” Trat’catha took a few heavy steps forward and they cleared the treeline and entered the clearing near the lake.

“I’m sorry I missed it, then.”

“You’ll have more chances, certainly.” Trat’catha shook his head and took a seat to relax.

Thu’lain looked over Tin’lo, noticing that, while he wasn’t covered in wounds, he had the most grievous injury. He leaned in to investigate the hole that was punched through his abdomen.

“We’re going to need to get you patched.”

“Some fishing trip,” Tin’lo grumbled under his breath, then laughed lightly.

They brought both of them next to the fire and, between Thu’lain and Raj’ken, had the both of them bandaged up where necessary in a matter of minutes. They pitched a simple tent and set both Tu’lar and Tin’lo within so they could rest more easily.

“Everyone, activate your cloaks. Stay close to camp, douse the fire, and be as silent as you can.”

Thu’lain was already moving quickly, packing up anything that needed to be ready to go while he swapped his comfortable travelling clothes with the armor and equipment he’d grabbed from the cache. He checked on those around him, noticing that Raj’ken and Anar’dea were already preparing themselves to move and, sensing the change in Thu’lain’s movements, armored and armed themselves in case of danger.

“Raj’ken, what’s happening?” Il’tan asked with a sleepy-eyed stare, having just pulled herself out of a bedroll she’d set up. She saw Hret and Hal burying the fire under sand and likewise packing up everything that had to be packed.

“Tu’lar and Tin’lo were injured by an apex earlier. But something’s got Thu bothered, I don’t know what, but I learned a long time ago to be as ready as you can be.” Raj’ken finished fastening the final touches of her armor and gave Il’tan a reassuring smile. “It could be nothing, though, but - just in case - you should get ready, too.”

“If something does happen, stay close to us. That goes for you guys, too.” Anar’dea made sure that the gaur heard them. She hadn’t spoken much to any of them aside from Il’tan, but they were still her family and she would do what she could to help Il’tan keep them. Her cousins were young, but they seemed to be flexible at least and helped to pack things up and strung their bows to be ready to aid if needed.

Trat’catha was up and about after a brief reprieve, speaking with Thu’lain while they went on another patrol. Unlike Tin’lo and Tu’lar, the conversations were much more one-sided, like trying to speak to a rock. However, he decided it was worth the attempt anyways.

“I’ve always been rather partial to moonlight delight for an evening beverage. Of course, I can’t seem to get the taste right for any of the brews I’ve attempted over the years. I suppose being a smith doesn’t mean I can suddenly do what a brewmaster of Bour’dain’s caliber had done over the course of his life. But sometimes I wonder how he managed to make it. I’m not even sure I’m using the right starter for the brew. It’s hard to figure out what he could have used and I don’t know if he’s still alive and kicking anyways. What about you? Did you drink? Or was it something you weren’t interested in?” Trat’catha didn’t quite expect an answer this time; after the sixth or seventh question, he’d realized that either Thu’lain wasn’t listening or didn’t care to answer and, in either case, it had made for a rather annoyed Trat’catha.

“Thu’lain, I’ve been talking at you for twenty minutes and you’ve had almost nothing to say. What’s troubling you?” Trat’catha tried to keep the agitation out of his voice, but barely spoke over a whisper.

“I’m expecting more apex.”

Does he mean imminently, or eventually? He’s been willing to talk in the past, so he’s being extra cautious due to the attack. He must expect more apex to come tonight.

Trat’catha remained silent and walked with his halberd at the ready while Thu’lain stalked through the sparse tree cover with a dagger and sword drawn. The sounds of the forest were at rest, leaving only the sounds of nocturnal insects and the breeze blowing through the leaves, but there was a tension hidden in the atmosphere that started to build.

“I think we’re being watched,” Trat’catha whispered, so quietly that he could have been drowned out by a cricket. He knew Thu’lain heard him through the sharp nod he gave; it was as if he was telling him, “I thought so, too.” His silence only drove Trat’catha to a higher point of readiness as the two froze in place, lowering themselves slowly into the few bushes they could use as cover.

Trat’catha began to disappear from sight as his cloak blended him into the environment and Thu’lain likewise sank into the shadows. They slowed their breathing such that they made no sound and watched the moonlit forest for any signs of movement. More than ten minutes passed as they restrained themselves, even more so when the sounds of crickets ceased in the area around them.

There’s something near. But where?

Their patience was rewarded as the faintest sound of a footstep reached their ears; they could not see the source of the sound, but they knew that it had been ahead of them and intersected with the path they were going to take. They also recognized the corpse of the apex that had been slain earlier.

It smells the blood.

Trat’catha focused on watching the area around the fallen apex, knowing that it would inevitably be drawn to investigate the scent of the blood; he suspected Thu’lain to be doing the same, but couldn’t quite make out the details of where he was looking.

An apex prowled between the trees and kept low to the ground: it looked something like a jungle cat with black fur that blended in with the shadows, though completely oversized and bundled with dense muscle. If it had ears, they were kept sweeping backward along with the rest of the body. Trat’catha suspected that it would be much more agile than the last apex, which it was sniffing with what sounded like haughty contempt.

We can wait for it to pass and get the others.

The apex let out a sudden yowl before thrashing its head back and forth vigorously in agony, a throwing blade embedded in the creature’s eye. Thu’lain was sprinting soundlessly towards the giant cat and, in the next moment, Trat’catha did the only thing he could do - he rushed around the apex to flank from its side.

While Thu’lain was ghostly silent, Trat’catha was just as proficient, if not quite as fast as the dagger-and-sword-wielding hunter. To Thu’lain’s credit, he broke off from his direct assault after noticing Trat’catha swiftly rounding to the apex’s flank. Instead, he circled opposite of Trat’catha to be on completely opposite sides of the apex while it attempted to find its assailants without the use of one of its eyes.

Trat’catha and Thu’lain turned sharply toward the apex simultaneously and the apex reflexively turned to swipe at Trat’catha as he came too close, causing the elf to roll to the side to avoid the swipe of a paw the size of his head, and claws the length of daggers.

That strike gave Thu’lain the opportunity he was looking for and, before the apex could so much as take a step forward, Thu’lain had slid underneath the cat. He stabbed up and under its ribcage with both his sword and his dagger repeatedly, pouring black blood from grisly wounds.

In response, the apex’s fur underwent a radical change into quill-like spikes all over its body which threatened to skewer Thu’lain if he struck again. The apex began to lower its heavy muscular body as if to crush and skewer the assailant beneath it, certain that it would flee rather than die.

But it hadn’t anticipated what Thu’lain would do: instead of diving out from underneath or attempting to deflect quills away from his body, Thu’lain over doubled the strikes he made against the apex above him, doing even more damage and ripping far deeper due to the apex coming even closer to the ground.

From the side of the apex, Trat’catha watched a shower of black blood fall onto Thu’lain and charged the apex with an overhead swing of his halberd - using the length of the weapon to avoid the quills that now protruded from the fur at odd places - and struck straight down into the meaty neck of the catlike creature. He ripped his weapon free and flipped backward to avoid a counter attack that never came.

The apex slowly buckled and fell to the ground in a silent heap amongst a pile of blackened fur and slabs of flesh. Thu’lain was nowhere to be seen.

Trat’catha rushed forward, prepared to heft the corpse up and off of his friend, but froze in place as a pair of blades erupted from the back of the apex. Thu’lain erupted from the back of the apex, covered completely in gore and pincushioned by vicious quills. He hadn’t been outside of the apex for more than a moment before he was firmly yanking out the quills one by one. After what felt like a tense eternity, he finally finished plucking the quills and stepped the rest of the way out of the corpse.

Thu’lain futilely brushed a bit of gore off of his shoulder and turned his blackened face to Trat’catha.

“He used a toxic carnivorous flower called Seramillus. Rather common in underground areas.”

“Come again?” Trat’catha’s confusion was exacerbated by the fact that Thu’lain had just crawled out of an apex’s innards.

“Bour’dain’s moonlight delight. That’s what he used. I prefer stout ale.” Thu’lain clipped his blades back into their holsters and began picking the smaller bits of gore off of himself as he started walking back to where they had hid. Trat’catha followed him.

“I didn’t think you were listening,” Trat’catha admitted.

“I was. But I’m still expecting more apex.” Thu’lain ducked back down into the foliage and began to vanish once again.

“You were right.”

“Say what now? You’re going to need to be specific.” Trat’catha got comfortable and leaned against a nearby tree.

“You said I’d have more chances to fight apex.”

Trat’catha rolled his eyes as he smiled. “Well I hope that you won’t have too many more fights.” He looked at the mess of black blood spread around the forest. “And I hope that they aren’t nearly as messy when they do happen.”

Thu’lain glanced around and smirked before settling into his new ambush position.

The rest of their watch passed uneventfully, and they were able to catch some rest when Raj’ken and Anar’dea relieved them. In the morning, they packed up and readied for the day’s journey.