They waited. The beast's movement continued its patrol rhythm. Unaware. Unhurried.
Robert made his move first — not in a rush, nor with the fierce determination of someone launching an attack, but rather with a quiet, measured approach, like someone inching closer to something that had not yet warranted a reaction to his presence.
Swift Turn kept his footsteps below the forest floor's ambient noise. The undergrowth between him and the beast was dense but not impassable—he read the path through it in the three seconds before he committed to moving and took it without deviation.
Twelve meters. Ten. Eight. At eight meters, the beast's movement stopped.
Robert stopped, completely still, one foot raised mid-step, his weight held without the tremor that full suspension usually produced because thirty days of training had built the particular strength in his stabilizing muscles that this exact situation required.
