chapter 4: Lesson Of The Wild

The forest had settled into a quiet rhythm after the storm. Sunlight pierced through the canopy in scattered beams, painting the mossy ground in golden streaks. Maun sat on the damp earth, small hands brushing over the remains he had discovered the day before. The memory of the bones lingered — a sharp reminder that life in the wild was neither gentle nor forgiving.

Seryth watched him silently from a short distance, her silver eyes calm and calculating. Rhaen crouched nearby, muscles coiled, alert for predators, but letting the boy explore. Today, Maun would take his first steps beyond mere observation.

“The forest teaches,” Seryth said softly, her voice threading through the mist. “It will not guide you gently. You must watch, listen, and respect every sound, every shadow. You must survive.”

Maun looked up at her, eyes wide, still wet from tears he could not hold back. The infant had begun to understand, in ways words could not capture, that the world demanded more than curiosity — it demanded attention, patience, and courage.

Rhaen led Maun to a shallow stream that cut through the clearing. The water was icy, tumbling over stones slick with moss. “Today,” Rhaen said, “you will gather food. Look, but do not touch anything dangerous. Learn which plants are safe, which roots nourish, which berries can poison.”

Maun crawled forward, fingers hovering above small shoots and berries. The forest whispered around him — leaves brushing, branches groaning, a distant rustle of movement. Each sound heightened his awareness, teaching him the rhythm of survival.

One wrong touch… one wrong step… Maun’s tiny mind flickered with fear. But with each safe discovery, his confidence grew. The warmth of the pack, the safety of Seryth nearby, allowed him to take small risks.

Rhaen circled behind him, silent but vigilant. “Patience,” he murmured. “Observe. Wait. Learn. The forest does not forgive haste.”

As Maun reached for a cluster of berries, a small predator — a forest lynx with pale fur and golden eyes — watched from a low branch. Its body was tense, ready to strike if the boy moved incorrectly.

Maun froze. His tiny heart hammered, and instinct screamed to run. But Seryth’s teachings echoed in him: stillness before action, observation before reaction.

He stayed frozen, watching the lynx’s every twitch. Moments passed like hours. Then, seeing no immediate threat, Maun slowly withdrew his hand and stepped back. The lynx leapt away, uninterested.

Rhaen exhaled quietly. “Well done,” he said. “You did not panic. That is the first lesson of survival: control fear, and it will not control you.”

That evening, as the sun dipped low, the pack gathered in the clearing. Seryth spoke to Maun for the first time as a teacher, not merely as a protector:

“This is how the forest works,” she said, her voice steady, commanding. “Life takes and gives in equal measure. We survive not because we are strongest, but because we understand it. You are human, yes, but that does not make you weak. It makes you adaptable. Learn, and you will endure.”

The pack’s younger members observed silently, waiting for Maun to demonstrate his ability to follow instructions, even at such a young age. Seryth let him crawl among them, touching the roots, sniffing the moss, feeling the pulse of the earth beneath him.

“Every touch, every step, every sound carries meaning,” Seryth continued. “Pay attention. Absorb everything. That is the beginning of strength.”

Maun’s small hands pressed over the earth, lingering on moss and stones, feeling the vibrations of unseen creatures, hearing the whispers of leaves above him. It was a first lesson in awareness, observation, and the discipline that would define him.

Night fell, and the clearing became a chorus of sounds — hooting owls, distant howls, rustling leaves. Shadows stretched like fingers across the moss. Maun curled beside Seryth, listening, absorbing.

Seryth’s gaze swept the darkened forest. “There are dangers beyond your understanding,” she whispered. “Predators, storms, creatures older than empires. And one day… forces beyond this world will seek him.”

Her words carried weight Maun could not yet comprehend. But even now, his body had begun learning what his mind could not yet grasp: to survive, he must be patient, cautious, and observant.

And so, the first chapter of his life as a survivor concluded — not with victory, but with awareness. The bones, the berries, the lynx, the shadows — each had taught him something he could not yet name.

The child of Solmora, cradled among the humanoid Lunaris, had taken his first true steps into the wildlands.

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