The fog clung low to the ground, swallowing the village of Grey Hollow in a thick, suffocating silence. Nestled in a narrow valley beneath iron-grey mountains, the village had once thrived on the edge of the industrialized world. Great steam engines chugged day and night, pumping water from the mines and powering the looms. But now, those sounds were muted, overtaken by the growing fear that had gripped every soul in Grey Hollow.
For weeks, something large had been stalking the village. At first, it only took sheep, dragging them away into the night, leaving nothing but shredded wool and pools of blood. But as the nights stretched on, the beast grew bolder. Cattle vanished without a trace, and finally, hunters—men strong and seasoned in the ways of the wild—disappeared one by one, swallowed by the darkness beyond the village’s meager boundaries.
Desperate, the villagers called upon their finest trackers and enlisted the help of those from distant lands, offering all they had in return for the beast's head. But none succeeded. Some never returned, while those who did came back broken and haunted, whispering of unnatural things seen in the depths of the forest.
And then she appeared.
A small girl, cloaked in a dark, heavy hood, stood at the edge of the village square, unnoticed until she spoke. "I can help you."
The village elders scoffed at first. What could this child, no older than sixteen winters, do that their finest had failed to achieve? She carried only a large, worn bow slung across her back, its wood darkened by time and wear. Her eyes, though veiled beneath her hood, glinted with a confidence that unsettled those who dared to meet her gaze.
"I see what others cannot," she whispered.
Desperation overruled skepticism, and the elders relented. They gave her no map, no escort—only their prayers.
The girl set out alone, the mist rising from the damp earth as if reluctant to let her go. Her name was unknown to the villagers, and they did not ask, for they were too consumed by their own fear. But the girl knew this place. She had walked these woods before, not with her feet but with her mind. Her gift, an extra sense, allowed her to feel the pulse of the earth, the tremor of life in the smallest creatures, and the heavy thrum of the beast that now haunted this land.
For three days and nights, she tracked the creature through the dense, fog-shrouded forest. Its path was clear to her—shadows where there should have been light, trees bent and twisted as if they had flinched away from its passing. The further she ventured from the village, the heavier the air became, as though the very forest itself was holding its breath.
On the fourth night, she found it.
The clearing was vast, a circle of gnarled trees that twisted like skeletal fingers reaching toward the moon. In the center, the beast lay coiled, its dark fur matted with blood and mud, its eyes glowing with an unnatural light. It was not of this world—she could feel it, sense its wrongness in the air. Its body was massive, sinewed and sleek, but something about it felt out of place, as if it had been cobbled together from nightmares and shadows.
The girl nocked an arrow, her hand steady, though her heart beat fast in her chest. She drew the bowstring back, her breath slowing, her mind focusing on the creature's unnatural pulse. The beast turned its head toward her, and for the briefest of moments, its glowing eyes locked with hers. In that gaze, she felt something she had not expected—sorrow. The beast, in all its terror and savagery, had been driven by an unrelenting hunger, not just for flesh but for something deeper, something lost.
Her fingers released the string. The arrow flew swift and true, cutting through the air with a quiet hiss before sinking deep into the creature's heart. The beast let out a low, mournful groan, its massive body shuddering as it collapsed onto the forest floor. The light in its eyes dimmed, fading into the shadows that stretched endlessly around them.
The girl lowered her bow, her chest tight with the weight of what she had done. She had ended the terror that had plagued the village, but in doing so, she had extinguished a life—a life that, in its final moments, had seemed so painfully familiar to her. A life misunderstood, hunted like she had been.
As the beast lay dying, the forest grew still once more. The mist began to lift, revealing the moon in its cold, silver glory, casting a pale light over the scene. The girl knelt by the creature’s side, placing a hand on its rough, furred hide. It was warm still, and beneath her palm, she felt its final breath leave its body, a soft exhale that carried with it the weight of centuries.
"I’m sorry," she whispered, though she did not know if she spoke to the beast or herself.
The village would be safe now. The livestock would return, and the hunters who had been lost would be avenged. But as the girl stood and looked back toward the distant lights of Grey Hollow, she felt no triumph, no relief. Only sorrow for the thing that had been, for the creature that had once known freedom but had been consumed by its own nature.
She left the clearing in silence, her dark hood pulled low over her face, and disappeared into the night, just as she had come—an unknown girl with a bow, carrying the weight of her victory like a curse.
