Arit was taking a patrol on the outskirts of the village. His steps were confident, but careful as he checked the noose traps, set up by the treeline of the nearby forest. He was carrying his faithful spear, the setting sun glistened on the obsidian head. He was just about to turn back, when his gaze fell onto some human tracks. They were fresh and Arit was sure that it wasn't left by one of his hunters. He examined them, his brow furrowed in concern: there was a trespasser nearby.
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