Ryathane wove his way through the city, utilizing the backstreets. Using the money he had acquired from the pompous man earlier, as well as what little he had to start with, he went from shop to shop, purchasing a few items he would need: bottles of poison for his arrows. An extra net the merchant claimed to be enchanted. A gnarly looking bear trap, the barter with the blacksmith taking him longer than Ryathane wanted to admit. A small slab of meat, cut into three smaller pieces for bait. Then, of course, with the leftover money, a handful of jerky and a loaf of bread baked to perfection by a rather flirtatious woman baker.

	As the glorious colors of twilight painted the sky, turning the clouds into flames floating in the navy sea of the creeping night, Ryathane made his way through the surrounding forest. With his items in a “borrowed” sack slung over his shoulder, he hiked down the beaten path outside the town for a short distance, then turned into the woods themselves.

	The late evening darkened beneath the trees, but his eyes adjusted easily to the shadows. He made his way expertly through the underbrush. After a couple minutes, he stopped near a dense cropping of trees, the shrubs around it growing wildly.

	Setting his bag on the ground, he reached into the bushes around one of the trees. He pulled his bow and quiver of arrows from beneath the shrubbery, slung the bow across his back, and quickly hooked the quiver to his belt. After prying a crude, leather backpack from a hallow near the tree’s base, he picking up the sack once more, and set out deeper into the woods. He easily relocated the manticore’s trail he had found that morning.

	After choosing a base near the center of the beast’s trail, he made haste to set everything up before the manticore began its hunt.

	He pulled out the skillfully wrapped net from the burlap sack. Drawing his dagger, he tried once more to cut the tightly woven net, but the sharp blade refused to make even the slightest of scratches. After rigging it to ensnare any who stepped into it, he covered the net with debris of the forest floor, making it blend in with the ground, and carefully placed a slab of meat near it.

	He hurried to set up the bear trap and two other, smaller enchanted nets he had in his pack. After placing the net without bait in the most trafficked area, he ran a line from each of the nets through the trees to a single, grand oak growing proudly from the earth. He tied each cord to a different branch in the treetop, creating a hidden signal system for if something tripped one of his nets. 

	With the sun all but vanquished by the horizon, Ryathane returned to the ground, grabbed his pack, and climbed nimbly up the copious branches sprouting from the tree trunk. He sat where two thick branches entwined, the surrounding leaves hiding him from view below. He hung his pack from one nearby branch and draped his bow carefully on another.

	He pulled one of the bottles of poison from where he had transferred them into his pack. He fingered it for a moment, before gripping it firmly.

	“Been a while since I’ve had [i]this[/i] luxury,” he muttered, an excited smile on his lips as he unstoppered the wide-necked bottle. Exercising caution, he dipped the tips of his arrows individually into the bottle, holding them each out for the few seconds it took for the liquid to dry.

	With the shadows of night finally fully encompassing the forest, Ryathane placed the last arrow back into his hip quiver, then made himself as comfortable as he could.

	The music of the night sounded around him as nocturnal creatures stirred from their slumber. Crickets chirped, their chorus joined by the howl of a wolf. Another wolf answered the first, but a waking owl interrupted it.

	Ryathane closed his eyes, listening. His muscles remained tense and ready to pounce should he hear anything amiss, or one of his traps snag something. His stationary form blended perfectly with the shadows saturating the tree branches as the hunter waited with patient vigilance for his prey.