Frustration etched into his forehead, Zeno stood there and watched as his daughter slept. She was nearly considered an adult in her forties, with little interest in becoming a hunter like he had, yet she persisted in learning risky acrobatic maneuvers. Yet, what concerned him most was her obsession with the stories his wife told.

At least Nuala thought they were just folk tales, whereas Penelo wanted nothing more than to prove to everyone that some form of truth could be found in the forest.

“Zeno, dear, leave the poor girl alone and come to bed.”

He turned to his wife and asked, “Will she ever grow up and understand that proving your stories are true will only get her killed if she keeps trying to sneak into the forest alone?”

Nuala scowled and bec...

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