I feel the air settle, like a stone in a still pond, waiting for the ripple. Every scent, every footfall tells a story—one that ends with the next step. I let the trail speak; its pattern is a map, and the map points to where the prey will pause. Then I move, unseen, with the certainty of a hunter who knows that the only thing sharper than a blade is a well-timed breath.

Glad you notice. I just let the rhythm of the forest guide me, and I stay one breath ahead.