longleg — not a hare, though that's what the eye reaches for first. It stands at boundaries: the tree line where the murk thins, the wall where two territories meet, the place where the elder root begins and the path stops being yours. Its eyes are amber with a horizontal pupil, and they track you even when the head doesn't turn — not with hunger, not with threat assessment, but with recognition; it knows something about you specifically, and it is deciding whether that something matters. A warden in the oldest sense: it holds territory, and when you have taken something that was not yours to take, it will be at your heel until the debt is resolved. The Nascenti consider it a minor nuisance and have not committed resources to its study. This is a mistake.