"The hunting rite would be in Vorash forest."
"The vorash forest," Sol repeated softly, testing the weight of the words on his tongue. In tribal language it means devouring, endlessly green which seems quite fitting for the forest he had seen from afar.
"Yeah, nasty place," Taru shuddered, oblivious to the cold calculation in Sol's eyes. "Thick canopy, lots of ravines. Perfect for getting lost or... well, eaten." He looked at Sol with a sympathetic grimace. "Honestly, Sol, maybe it's better you don't go. You know, with your... constitution. Just stick to the soup. Everyone says it's delicious. There's no shame in being a gatherer."
Sol blinked, the mask of the harmless, weary scholar sliding back into place. He looked at Taru… this simple, well-meaning boy who had no idea he had just handed Sol the keys to a murder.
"You're right, Taru," Sol said, his voice level and unassuming. "The forest is a dangerous place. One has to be very careful."
