The spring was moving along faster than the hunter would have liked. Leaves budding in trees was a sign of his time running out.
 

This was as close to a human residence as he could travel safely. It was this far that he had kept travelling for months, in hopes of catching the scent of his target. But so far it had eluded him.

A thought crossed the Hunter's mind: had he failed his mission?

What would the punishment be? Death, like it should?

The demon could not admit to himself that he regretted not killing the boy when he'd had the chance. He had been arrogant, so sure that he could catch him again. And this is what it had led him to.

But no. He had not failed yet.

He squeezed his sword's handle.

And sat down, pulling the blade free of his hip.

He would wait here, weeks if he had to, until his target entered the forest again. It was dependent on the nature and could not avoid him forever.

Perhaps the forest would lend him aid when he needed it the most.

Kilbas had never failed a mission, and he never would.