Not really

Sleep claims you quickly, dragging you down into the warm comfort of oblivion. The dreamless void doesn’t last for long, though. You begin to get impressions that quickly form into a cogent narrative. You’re fleeing, thought from what you’re not sure.

Your breath comes harshly, as if you’ve been running for some time. Your blood sings with adrenaline, fight or flight kicked into full-on flight mode.

Lead the hunt.

The words echo in your mind. How though? You’re the hunted in this hunt.

Teach them fear.

Again the voice of Nire invades your mind and your thoughtless panic begins to fade. You continue to run, the setting around you resolving into the forest surrounding your glade. Your thoughts turn to the goddess’ words and her gifts from the pact. You’re a huntsman, you do the hunting here. This is your territory. Ahead you spot a trap you must have laid earlier: a live snare. You bound over the trigger, moments later hearing the rusting crash of the snare triggering and pulling whatever had been chasing you into the canopy. Or so you think.

You turn to view your capture only to bowled over. Pain blossoms in your chest, more real and present than you’d expect in a dream and you tumble to the ground. Whatever hit you pins you beneath them as you land. “Nice try, my huntsman. You’ll have to do better.” You gather yourself and look up to see just who it is that’s pinned you.

“Who--?” You begin to ask as you try to see, only to have your words cut off by a hand at your throat that forces your view up and away from your captor.

“Uhuh, you don’t deserve to see me yet. Prove you’re capable and maybe that will change. Tomorrow, hunt. Don’t heed the nymph. She means well, and I do have a particular scorn towards the heroes; but you’ll need every scrap of experience and fame that you can gather. Grow strong and cunning, my hunter. Or you’ll become the hunted sooner than you might think.” The grip on your neck tightens, claw-like nails dig into your fur and pierce your flesh while your air grows scant. Black spots engulf your vision as the hot pain of the wound fades to a warmth as unconsciousness once again takes you.

You come to with a loud rasping gasp, startling the still sleeping Nymph beside you into sudden wakefulness. “Gah!” She flails out and punches you in your already bruised ribs. You groan and roll out of the cot. Kneeling and gasping on the floor you glare up at Sylvana. “What? I thought… maybe there was something attacking. Sorry.” She looks at you sheepishly when she realizes that nothing had happened other than you startling her.

“It’s… fine.” You take a deep breath, trying not to get too upset at the only member of your pack after the progress you’d made yesterday.

“So… bad dream?” She looks at you, gaze moving to your neck and winces. “How did that happen?” You’re not sure what she’s talking about and move your hand to where she’s looking, fingertips coming into contact with blood-matted fur. It stings as you touch it and you hiss softly at the pain.

“More than a dream it seems. I guess Nire doesn’t really do ‘soft touch’ with people she makes pacts with.” You’ll find some water to wash the wound later, but after the (very) pointed discussion with your divine patron you were eager to prove yourself and fully test your new abilities.

“Nire did that?” Sylvana seemed confused. The goddess she knew wouldn’t cause harm to her followers. Given her confusion maybe it was best not to tell her about Nire’s desire for you to hunt more than just adventurers.