Grub did not break his line of sight again.

  Once he confirmed that the lizard was indeed traveling along a known route and not simply wandering between trees, he committed fully to the pursuit. He kept his distance, but he did not allow the creature to disappear for long. Whenever the armor flickered between trunks or the tail shifted through brush, he adjusted his angle slightly to maintain a visual anchor. The forest had grown quieter after the rain, the air thick and damp with the scent of soaked bark and cooling soil. Water still dripped in scattered intervals from higher leaves, occasionally striking his shoulders or the back of his neck, but the burning had faded into a manageable irritation.

  His body had not improved at all.

  The claw marks along his ribs felt tighter now that the fabric had dried unevenly against them. Every time he leaned sideways to maintain cover behind a trunk, the bark pressed into tender flesh and forced him to grit his teeth. His leg was worse. The rain had aggravated the acid burn and the muscle beneath it trembled after extended steps. Twice his calf spasmed sharply enough that he had to grab onto a nearby branch to prevent himself from stumbling forward. His broken ribs ached at his insides and combined with the scratches to make his entire rib area feel as though it was made for the sole purpose of causing him to suffer. He could not afford to stumble despite the pain. A snapped twig at the wrong time would end everything he had worked toward.

  So he adjusted and adapted to his increasingly poor situation. He shortened his stride slightly to reduce strain and shifted more weight to his uninjured leg when stepping down slopes. He used roots and exposed stone to steady his balance rather than relying fully on muscle. Pain did not matter. Losing the trail did. That lizard was his ticket and if he was patient and quite it could lead him to his goal

  The lizard did not appear aware of him. It moved with the same steady pace as before, occasionally slowing to scan its surroundings, but never looking directly backward. Its tail remained level and controlled, not elevated in alarm. That detail mattered. If it suspected pursuit, it would not be this relaxed. Grub knew that he had to make sure it never noticed his presence until he was ready to reveal it.

  The forest gradually shifted again as they moved. The undergrowth thinned in subtle corridors. Ferns leaned consistently in one direction. Certain patches of soil were pressed flatter than others. Grub recognized the signs instantly. This was not wild terrain. This was traveling terrain. A place that had been walked over enough times to leave noticeable changes in the surrounded area

  As dusk began to creep between the trees, the lizard-like creature slowed. Its steps became shorter, more careful. It glanced left and right more frequently, then veered slightly off the main corridor into a small clearing partially sheltered by taller trunks. The clearing was not large—just wide enough to avoid brushing constant foliage—but it was positioned on a slight incline with a natural line of sight downslope.

  It was a place easy to defend.

  Grub lowered himself immediately behind a thicker stand of brush and watched carefully.

  The lizard did not collapse into rest. It moved with purpose. First it scanned the perimeter slowly, rotating its head in a full arc while remaining upright. Then it approached the base of a tree and removed a small object from a pouch secured along its waist. The object was compact and metallic, shaped like a flattened cylinder with ridges along one side. The creature pressed a claw against its surface, and a faint clicking sound reached Grub’s ears through the damp air.

  Grub watched closely as the lizard waited for a moment, its scaly eyes watching the device patiently. Then the lizard spoke into the device.

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  The sound was harsh and layered, like stone scraping against stone mixed with a low rumble in its throat. The language was entirely unfamiliar. It moved in clipped sequences, short bursts of guttural syllables followed by pauses. The creature’s tone sharpened twice. Its tail flicked once in irritation. Aggravation was written all over its face.

  Grub leaned slightly forward in his concealment, memorizing the sounds as best he could. He did not understand a single word, but he was watching for the patterns in the language more than meaning. The rhythm. The pitch shifts. The cadence. It spoke for nearly a minute before pausing, listening to the device as if awaiting a response. A faint crackling returned from it—so faint he almost missed it. Another voice answered in the same harsh cadence.

  They were truly communicating. Grub could only wonder what they were communicating about. The device continued murmuring and speaking the same inscrutable language the lizard spoke. The lizard and the device talked for a while before the lizard replied once more, shorter this time, and then stowed the device carefully back into its pouch.

  After that, it got up and began setting up camp.

  It removed a folded piece of material from its pack—dark and flexible—and stretched it between two low branches, creating a shallow cover that shielded it from overhead exposure. It did not bother with a fire. Instead, it cleared the ground of loose debris with efficient sweeps of its foot and tail, then sat with its back toward the tree trunk. The curved blade at its hip was removed and placed within easy reach, angled toward its dominant side.

  Every movement it made was deliberate. And it used a minimal amount of effort. This lizard-creature continued to show its sentience and intelligence. And Grub could only imagine what thoughts were behind its long narrow skull—and what emotions were buried in its lateral eyes.

  Grub studied everything he could about the creature and its setup.

  The order in which it placed its stuff. How it had placed its weapon in a position that would allow it to take up arms in a moments notice

  Even direction the creature faced and the amount of time it took before it allowed itself to sit comfortably. Only after another slow perimeter scan did the lizard settle its weight more completely against the trunk. Grub did not move immediately. He counted again as he lay in wait. One minute passed by. Then two.

  He waited until the lizard’s posture softened slightly before shifting backward through the brush. He moved carefully, circling wider to establish his own position. He chose a location downslope but partially shielded by layered foliage and a fallen trunk. Far enough that a casual glance would not detect him. Close enough that he could maintain visual contact through gaps in leaves. He did not set up a true camp.Grub thought it unwise too—as getting comfortable might make the lizard aware of his presence. Which he could not allow. Instead his personal camp had no visible structure.

  He cleared a shallow depression just large enough to lie in and brushed loose foliage back over disturbed soil. He positioned himself so that one narrow gap between branches gave him a clean view of the lizard’s silhouette against the tree.

  Then he settled in. The pain returned more sharply now that he had stopped moving. His ribs throbbed steadily. His leg pulsed in a dull rhythm beneath damp cloth. He adjusted only enough to prevent muscle locking. But he didn't move much outside of that.

  Across the clearing, the lizard shifted once, repositioning its blade slightly closer to its hand. Its tail curled loosely along the ground. Its breathing slowed gradually as the night deepened.

  The forest returned to its darker rhythm. Insects resumed their pulsing chorus. Small animals moved cautiously along the perimeter of the clearing. The lizard did not respond to minor disturbances. Only when a heavier rustle echoed briefly in the distance did it open one eye and scan its surroundings before closing its eye and settling again.

  Grub did not allow himself to close his eyes fully. He didn’t want to miss anything at all and he had to stay on high alert incase the lizard came closer to him. So he decided to rest in fragments.

  Ten breaths with his eyes half-lidded. Then his eyes shot open again.

  He watched the rise and fall of the lizard’s chest. Counted the intervals and measured the consistency. He noted when its breathing shifted from alert to sleep. When it finally seemed to drift fully into rest, Grub did not relax. He watched the creature even longer. The opportunity to sleep deeply did not exist anymore. He had found intelligence. He would not lose it to exhaustion.