Sarah crouched behind the tree trunk, arrow nocked, eyes scanning the underbrush.
Rumi was beside her, completely still.
A few minutes ago, they had both heard it—soft, deliberate movement through the leaves. Not a squirrel. Not wind. Something large. Careful. Hunting.
But Rumi didn't panic.
He signaled with two fingers and pointed to the low ground near a patch of moss. "Boar," he whispered. "Alone. Young male."
Sarah looked at him, surprised. "How do you know?"
"Tracks are shallow but spaced. No others around. Scrape on the bark there—see? Tusks. But not wide enough for a full-grown."
She blinked. "Since when do you notice this stuff?"
He smiled faintly. "Since I stopped trying to impress everyone and started paying attention."
Sarah said nothing, but the warmth in her eyes said everything.
The boar emerged into the open. Dark, muscled, snorting. It sniffed the air and took a cautious step toward the nearby thicket—right where Rumi had quietly laid a snare trap ten minutes earlier.
It stepped in.
Snap.
The loop tightened perfectly around its leg, anchoring it with just enough force to halt its movement, not hurt it. The boar squealed and kicked, trapped.
Sarah stood, bow ready, but Rumi held out a hand. "No. Let it tire itself out. We don't kill unless we need to."
She lowered her weapon, watching him.
Rumi approached slowly, murmuring soft sounds, calming the beast. He knelt beside it and with a small, steady blade, cut a piece of fur from its flank—not to harm it, but to prove the capture. Then, gently, he freed it.
The boar bolted into the woods, limping but alive.
Rumi stood.
Sarah just stared.
"That was... smart," she said, almost in awe.
He shrugged. "Just instinct."
"No. That was hunter's thinking. You didn't chase it, didn't boast, didn't flail around like you were in a play. You tracked it. Trapped it. Respected it."
He looked at her. "Think the others will believe it?"
"I do."
She smiled again. That same honest, unguarded smile from before.
And something clicked between them—something quiet, but real. A bond not built on noise, but shared breath, shared risk, and new respect.
"You're not who I thought you were," Sarah said.
"Yeah," Rumi replied, eyes softening. "Neither am I."
They started walking back toward camp together, not speaking much—but not needing to. Every step beside her felt lighter. Stronger.
Behind them, in the trees, something watched.
Not the boar.
Something older.
But for now, the forest was calm.
And for the first time in a long time, so was Rumi.