---

The mud along the forest road was beginning to remember things.

Caelwyn stood in the middle of the track, studying the ground with the quiet patience of someone who had learned long ago that the earth speaks—if one bothers to listen.

Spring had softened the road just enough.

Boot prints.

Cart wheels.

Hoof marks.

And others.

Stacy crouched beside him, sleeves rolled up, notebook balanced against her knee.

“Three kinds of tracks,” she said calmly.

Caelwyn shook his head.

“Four.”

She leaned closer.

“Where?”

He pointed with the tip of his knife.

“There.”

The impression was large. Wide toes. Heavy weight.

Not human.

Not animal either.

Stacy studied it quietly.

“Recent.”

“Yes.”

“Large.”

“Yes.”

She wrote something down.

The forest around them looked peaceful enough. Buds forming along the branches. The smell of damp soil. The quiet rustling of new leaves.

Spring.

But the ground told another story.

Too many tracks.

Too many directions.

“Farmers reported missing sheep,” Stacy said.

“Mm.”

“Woodcutters turned back yesterday.”

“Mm.”

“And you still wanted to check.”

Caelwyn finally looked up.

“Yes.”

A breeze moved through the forest.

Somewhere deeper among the trees a branch cracked.

Both of them turned immediately.

Silence followed.

Then—

very faint.

A rhythm.

Slow.

Dull.

Stacy tilted her head.

“Drums?”

“Possibly.”

“Woodcutters?”

Caelwyn shook his head.

“Too regular.”

The sound stopped again.

As if the forest had realized it had been heard.

Stacy closed her notebook.

“I dislike forests that practice music.”

Caelwyn almost smiled.

“Reasonable.”

They continued along the road.

More tracks appeared.

Large.

Small.

Clawed.

Some old.

Some fresh.

Near the edge of the road the soil had been disturbed.

Not by animals.

By digging.

Stacy crouched again.

“Tool marks.”

“Yes.”

“That’s… inconvenient.”

“Yes.”

They climbed a low rise overlooking the forest valley.

Below them the woods spread endlessly, green and calm beneath the pale spring sky.

Birds moved between branches.

White flowers pushed through the soil.

Life returning.

Everything growing.

Stacy watched the forest line.

“Spring,” she said quietly.

“Yes.”

“Everything multiplies.”

“Yes.”

She closed the notebook slowly.

“Plants.”

“Yes.”

“Animals.”

“Yes.”

“Problems.”

Caelwyn folded his arms.

“Yes.”

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Then the distant drums returned.

Soft.

Slow.

Patient.

Somewhere far inside the forest.

Stacy sighed.

“The forests are getting loud.”

Caelwyn nodded once.

“And spring has only just begun.”

---

SPRING & REBIRTH
🜍 Month 3 · The Turning of the Year
🜍 Week 2 — The forests begin to stir

Story: The Forests Are Getting Loud
Warhammer Fantasy Roleplaying Game — The Old World

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