A Hunter's Senses

The forest was—and forever will be—home. Home. Many things carry that title now. Her lynx. The ancient roots under Avalon. Her horses. The crisp air as it runs wild past the Elysian Fields. Margarita pauses for a moment and closes her eyes. A deep inhale of the fresh air is a pleasant reminder of why she hasn't left. She squints at the descending sun and decides to return to camp.

Margarita is a hunter. A survivor. She often asks herself why there's no one in her life besides a lynx and a half-dozen horses. The conclusion is always the same. She prefers the solitude and quiet wisdom of her feline and equine companions.

She currently resides in the Avalonian forest just north of the Elysian Fields. Her lynx impatiently stares at the hambone roasting over the small campfire. Drips of sizzling fat fall to the dirt in a hypnotizing rythym. For the third time today, Margarita catches herself lost in thought to the concerning omen she witnessed the previous night. She shakes her head and carefully removes the roasted ham from its place above the fire. She smiles as the lynx sits with regal poise, patiently waiting for Margarita to share the meal.

Her mind wanders again. Was it a dream? A trick of the moonlight? She could not shake the mental image of colossal shadows moving around the mountains to the southwest. Any other region, and she would just dismiss the notion as folly. However, the area she saw these shadows was the mountains surrounding the Gate to the Seventh Realm. As much as she keeps trying to tell herself she was mistaken, her keen hunter senses know better. A chill runs down her spine.

Entered by: 0xe2B4…3aaD and preserved on chain (see transaction)