Night settled fully over the settlement, muting edges and swallowing detail. Milt lay motionless beneath the storage shed, counting breaths and footsteps above him. Wood creaked. Someone coughed. A door opened and closed.
Lantern light shifted across the ground in thin, broken lines. Each movement overhead sent a ripple through his muscles, the urge to flee fighting the need to remain unseen.
Hunger gnawed at him, sharp enough to blur thought. His body felt hollow, stretched thin between exhaustion and alertness. This close to people, every sound mattered.
He waited for a rhythm to emerge. Humans repeated habits. Guards paced. Workers returned home. Children were pulled inside.
When the night finally slowed, Milt began to move.
He slid out from beneath the shed inch by inch, keeping his body flat until the last moment. The open yard beyond was cluttered with barrels, crates, and stacked firewood. Good cover, if used carefully.
Milt crossed the space in three controlled bursts, pausing long enough between each to listen. No alarms. No shouts. Just the soft murmur of distant conversation and the crackle of fires.
He reached the shadow of a low building near the wall. The smell here was stronger: grain, dried meat, oil. Storage. If there was food anywhere he could reach without being seen, it would be here.
He tested the door with two fingers. Locked.
A narrow gap yawned between the building and the wall where discarded boards and broken tools had been tossed. Milt slipped into it, following the smell to a small shutter near ground level. The wood was old, warped.
He eased it open just enough to peer inside.
Sacks lined the walls. Barrels stamped with simple marks. No guards. No light.
Milt squeezed through, claws scraping softly, and froze once he was inside. The darkness felt thicker here, heavy with dust. He waited a full minute, listening.
Nothing.
He moved fast after that. A knife cut a slit in one sack. Grain spilled into his hands. He shoved it into his mouth, chewing dry kernels until his jaw ached. It wasn't meat, but it was energy. Enough.
He drank from a barrel, water stale but clean. Relief spread through his body in a warm, dangerous wave. He forced himself to stop before greed made noise.
Footsteps passed outside.
Milt retreated into the shadows between barrels, holding still as a voice muttered nearby. The steps paused, then moved on.
He waited again, longer this time, until his heartbeat slowed.
Leaving was harder. He didn't retrace his path. Instead, he climbed a stack of crates and pushed through a loose section of roof slats, emerging into the night air above the building.
From here, he could see most of the settlement. Fires burned low. Guards walked predictable routes. The gate was closed now.
Milt moved across rooftops, using his claws sparingly, keeping weight spread and low. He dropped behind a tannery where the smell masked everything else and slid back into the forest edge without being seen.
He didn't stop until trees swallowed the lights.
Only once he was alone did his body begin to fail.
His legs trembled violently, forcing him to sit before they gave out completely. The grain sat heavy in his stomach, half-digested, but it dulled the worst of the hunger.
The pressure stirred weakly when he tried to stand again, then faded. Empty. Spent.
He wiped sweat and grime from his face and found his nose bleeding again, slower this time but steady. His hands shook as he pressed moss against it.
Too many close calls. Too much strain without recovery.
The settlement had fed him, but it had also taught him something brutal. Humans didn't need to see him to be dangerous. Their systems, their routines, their numbers did the work for them.
If anyone noticed the disturbed sacks, the shifted boards, the missing grain, they would adapt. They always did.
Milt leaned back against a tree, breathing shallow, listening to the distant sounds of the town settling into sleep.
He had survived the night.
But survival was getting harder each time.
Dawn crept in pale and cold. Milt woke stiff and aching, limbs slow to respond. The forest felt different now, less empty. Paths led to the settlement. Smells lingered.
He climbed a rise and looked back once. Smoke rose again. Life continued, unaware of how close he had been.
He understood the choice clearly now.
The wild would starve him slowly.
The settlement would kill him quickly if discovered.
Unless he found a way to exist between them.
Milt turned away and headed deeper along the treeline, following faint tracks that suggested traffic without walls. Outskirts. Edges.
Places meant for things that didn't belong.
Ahead, the forest opened onto a cluster of crude huts beyond the main road.
Milt realized he wasn't the only one living outside the walls.