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Around dawn, the mist hung thick and damp.
The birds and beasts of the mountains did not have the best of memories, probably not much better than Lady Calico’s when she was a kitten, and as the eastern sky grew pale, the forest that had fallen silent for two days beneath the battle of gods finally began to stir again.
There was a faint rustling nearby, and most of the sounds were made cautiously.
Perhaps their memories weren’t so bad after all.
Now and then, a few animals passed by the Daoist. They were mostly small creatures, such as pheasants, wild hares, and sparrows that did not hibernate. There were also some larger ones, like wild dogs and mountain boars.
Some creatures passed by the Daoist without noticing him at all; others would happen to catch sight of him, startle, then either freeze in place to stare for a while at this figure seated cross-legged beneath the ancient tree, or simply return to their business, neither overly fearful of him, nor showing any inclination to attack.
Yet the Daoist faintly sensed that somewhere in the grass a little way off, a small creature had been watching him all along.
Perhaps it was simply one with an unusually strong sense of curiosity.
When the first light of dawn crested the mountains, filtering through the treetops to spill across the forest floor, that direction finally yielded the faintest rustling, so soft that had the Daoist not been listening closely, he would have missed it entirely.
The sound that reached his ears painted...
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