Stumbling deeper into the forest in a haze. A massive migraine throbbing between his eyes as he struggled through the undergrowth. No idea where he was going and no idea where to go. "Why..why wasn't I stronger? Now everyone is going to die because I was too exhausted to fight off the Grimm." He tripped and fell into a thorn bush and just laid there defeated. His mind drifted in a haze of pain as he hoped that his father got out in time. "What...what am I supposed to do? They can't fight all of those Grimm off. They could handle a few small groups of Grimm, but this was a veritable horde. Where had they all come from?" He had been practicing his magic in the woods all day from noon to well into the afternoon. Exhausted he had wanted to push himself farther than he'd ever gone and he'd summoned the largest lightning bolt he could muster. It had cracked out of the sky splitting an old oak tree halfway down the middle, causing half of it to come crashing down. He'd been so proud until the massive migraine struck him and he'd curled up into a ball for what felt like forever. When he finally had the strength to regain his feet and stumble back to town he didn't even notice the screams until he saw an Ursa rip apart the old woman who ran the bakery not fifty feet away. His father appeared by his side and led him away from town instructing him to hide and only come back when it was safe. His father left him to run back towards town determined to help as many townsfolk evacuate. He never saw him again.

Quentin jerked awake and looked around in a mild panic. A cold sweat covered his body and he shivered at the haunting memories of that day. He felt himself hanging over empty space and remembered. His father was dead. Everyone back home was dead because the Grimm wiped them all out. All the while he had been helpless as a kitten passed out in a bush with the worst migraine he'd ever had in his entire life. Later after his training in Vale to become a Magi of the Church he learned that this was called spellcast sickness. A punishment for magi who pushed themselves past their limits and used too much magic. Upon waking he'd walked into a ghost town picked clean of any life. Many years later he now swung gently between two branches from his hammock. Placed high in a tree, he was able to sleep out in the wilderness relatively safely while he hunted. These days he hunted Grimm over dear or rabbits. There had been sightings of a pack of beowolves not too far from the city of Vale and had set out to track them down. They had to be put down before they could endanger some farming family unable to defend themselves and too complacent living so close to Vale to understand the danger. His resting spot wasn't all that far from the edges of the city. He'd had a late start to his hunt and wasn't foolish enough to try and track Grimm alone in the dark. Something had woken him though. Some sound that wasn't in-tune with the rest of the surrounding forest. He hadn't been sleeping all that long either. Quiet as he could he lifted himself out the hammock and onto the large branch below it. Comfortable even so high up he adjusted his cloak he'd had wrapped around himself as a makeshift blanket and pulled his hood up to break up the form of his head against the canopy and hopefully make it harder for anything to see him at a glance. 

He slid his quiver over his shoulder and made sure all of it settled right against his body. Attaching his sword sheathes to his waist took another few moments which he used to scan around him for any immediate threats that jumped out at him. Figuratively or literally. Once he finished he sat back against the trunk of the tree and pulled an arrow out of his quiver and gently knocked it to the string of his bow he had retrieved. Slowing his breathing he closed his eyes and listened to the forest. The ambiance and feel of life all around, searching for the sound or lack thereof that would indicated the disturbance. A few tense moments later he heard the quiet sound of soft footsteps coming along the path from the direction of Vale. He waited silently to see who would be walking around the forest at night alone no less. Only a fool wandered away from civilization at night with the threat of the Grimm ever present. Well..what does that make me, sleeping out here alone, he thought to himself with dark humor. Moments later he saw a figure in a cloak with their hood up, walking down that path that led right next to his tree. He noticed she walked with care and made little noise. It seemed unlikely that her light steps would have caused him to wake with this..feeling of urgency. Something wasn't right and he couldn't figure out why he felt so ill at ease. He continued watching the figure as they moved closer. He was so busy watching that he placed his hand out to steady his balance and broke a small twig from the branch he rested on. The sound felt as loud as the crack of a whip in the deep, steady silence of the night and he froze.