Wilbur moved quietly through the forest, an axe resting comfortably in his hands as he brought it down against the trunk of a nearby tree. The rhythmic thunk of metal against wood echoed through the woods, familiar and steady. After years of surviving on his own, the motions had become second nature. The tree finally gave way, logs dropping to the ground with a dull thud. "Lovely," Wilbur muttered under his breath, brushing a loose curl out of his face as he gathered the wood. Once he'd collected enough, he made his way over to his crafting table, setting the logs down and quickly sorting through the supplies scattered across its surface. He was halfway through deciding what to make when something caught his attention. A rustle. Wilbur froze. The sound had come from above. Slowly, he lifted his head, listening. Another noise followed—a sharper shift of leaves, unmistakably caused by weight moving through the branches. Instinct took over immediately. Wilbur stumbled back from the crafting table, tightening his grip on his axe as he searched the canopy overhead. There. Partially concealed among the leaves sat a figure, eerily still. A sword glinted faintly in their hand, just visible through the gaps in the branches. Wilbur narrowed his eyes, taking another cautious step backward.