This was the part he hated: the waiting. The luster and beauty of the forest at night slowly lessened, the chirps, howls, and bird calls of the late evening becoming little more than annoying background noise as time ticked by. He had observed as a family of raccoons played obliviously at the tree trunk beneath him, contemplating on startling them just for a bit of entertainment. Instead, he only watched as they left, their presence soon replaced by a lone fox slinking through the woods. It paused, sniffing at the air, then scampered onward.

	As hunger gently nudged its way into his stomach, Ryathane dug the loaf of bread from his pack, tore a piece from it, and began to nibble at the crust, careful to not let too many crumbs fall to the ground.

	He looked up at the gentle flutter of wings as a nightingale alighted on a branch in front of him. The small bird cocked its head, eyeing him carefully as Ryathane looked back at it.

	“What do you want?” he asked gruffly, his voice hushed. He shifted slightly on his branch seat, the leaves around him whispering as the thick branch shuddered slightly.

	The bird took a daring hop closer to him and chirped as if in answer before eying the bread.

	“Shoo.” He waved the back of his hand at the bird, but it only cocked its head and chirped louder.

	Ryathane made a show of rolling his eyes. “Oh, fine.” He peeled off a small portion of the crust. “But if you tell your friends, I swear I’ll hunt you down.” Curling his legs beneath his branch to keep his balance, he leaned forward and placed the crispy strip of bread on the bird's chosen perch. “And don’t think I can’t.”

	The bird hopped away, eyeing him suspiciously. As soon as Ryathane retracted his hand, the bird hopped forward, eagerly grabbed the bread in its sharp beak, and flew off.

	“What, no ‘thank you?’” Ryathane muttered as it disappeared beyond the protective layer leaves around him. “Ungrateful little worm-eater.” He leaned back, picking out a fluffy portion of the bread. As he popped it in his mouth, his attention snapped to one of the rigged twigs as the rope pulled from it.

	“'Bout time!” Wasting no time, he shoved his remaining bread unceremoniously back into his pack. As he grabbed his bow, he paused as another trap announced it had sprung. Making a quick note of which ones had triggered, he climbed down the tree with speed and agility that would have left most staring in amazed jealously.

	He made his way expertly through the forest, his feet scarcely making a sound as he slunk through the thick shadows. Despite the darkness, his sight held true as he quickly made his way to the first sprung trap, hoping it would house the manticore.

	Nearing the place of the first trap, he hid behind a wide tree, his back pressed against the rough bark, and listened.

	Ryathane frowned as a lupine snarl echoed through the trees in place of the feline growls he expected form a manticore. Carefully to avoid detection just in case, he peered out from behind the tree.

	The net dangled and swayed a yard above the ground, its wide mesh suspended from a tree above. Inside, a wolf struggled and bit at the weave, but the spells on it held, the creature’s sharp fangs incapable of penetrating it. Ryathane tried to make out the color of its fur, but the task proved difficult in the darkness even for his eyes. A red, perhaps? A rarer color, for certain.

	With an irritated sigh, he stepped into the open as he nocked a poison-tipped arrow, its point facing the ground. “At least tonight won’t be a waste,” he muttered as he drew the arrow back and took aim.