The sun began to set when Jacs spotted Turog. Dim lights outlined the huts’ rooftops, a sight he had seen before. Haunting memories of its salvage still plagued him, and his heart beat wildly as visions of the victims zipped through his mind.

“Looks like the village is occupied,” Carrin said, walking beside him. Jacs felt her hot, heavy breath against his face. “And there’s no mist. That might be a good sign. How should we handle this?”

Jacs glanced at Soop, who, looking like a wired lunatic from a penal colony, had already dropped his pack and now clutched a dagger in each hand. “Maybe we could sneak up quietly, then—“

He came to a slow stop, approaching thick-stemmed gray plants laden with leaves. A contrast to the surrounding vegetation, the plants were succulent like newly emerged seedlings.

Jacs scanned the arrangement of plants. Just like those he had encountered at the previous villages, they circled Turog, but they didn’t look like fungi and were not wilted or spinning a web. They stood upright and at attention.

“What is this?” he said with a mixture of surprise and fascination.

“These look like the plants at the last village,” Carrin said.

“Looks like they’re guarding the place,” Soop commented.

The sound of crackling brush startled Jacs, and he fell to the ground, pulling Carrin and Soop with him. He removed the pack from his shoulders and took out a dagger, then inched forward and peered overtop the plants that shielded him.

Then it happened. Soop raised his head and dashed forward. Jacs rose, but for a moment couldn’t move. People—no, they were hairless, and faceless, and—overcame Soop, attacking him with long pointed objects. Jacs had barely seen Soop’s silhouette go down when he realized he had been spotted.

Bloody hell, move!

Jacs sprinted away. He felt a sharp jab between his shoulders and fell, landing hard. Pain engulfed his body. He heard a crack. A scream—Carrin! A blow to the head.

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