To prepare such a trap had taken them time. Patience. And a careful reading of the terrain.
They had studied the area. Scouted it in turns at different times of the day, measuring the thickness of the mist, the paths most traveled, the way the essence reflected in the air. They had watched the creature's movements, analyzed its patterns, the way it slithered through the bamboo.
And finally, they had settled on this idea.
The pit.
It wasn't placed deep within the fog — that would've been far too risky, too difficult to control. No, it lay at the margins, where the mist grew thinner, lighter. A transitional zone, right between the dense shroud of fog and the hazy clarity of the more exposed stone fields.
A deceptively treacherous place.
Because emerging from the mist, it might seem like a clearing. A path. A chance.
But that was the mistake.
And had the beast not been so confident, so furious, so focused on her attackers… maybe she would've noticed it.
But she hadn't.
