The huntsman was walking through the crowd of the survivors. Nobody really knew what to say, besides the usual comments of "sorry for your loss." There wasn't anyone asking about a place to allow for recuperation, or letting the man rest in order to have him better mend the injuries of the person in his arms.

She was also a hunter. It was clear from the axe that the man hadn't had before, and what appeared to be a shotgun. Clothing helped the idea along, since they were in an unusual coat, pure black. The black heavily contrasted from her crisp white shirt and if you were to just quickly glance, she may have been unconscious.

The white was now nearly drenched. Hunters cared about appearance, or most of them did. It allowed people to easily recognize them.

She was cradled in the man's arms with care, dead. His face had no emotion.

Thus, despite not knowing her name, or birthplace, they knew she had fought for them, and died for them.

...

The hunter stopped walking. He focused on the townspeople encircling him as a large dull colored flock of earthen colors, locking eyes with everyone he was able to. No-one was spared. The quiet talking stilled, and it appeared he was going to speak. Maybe he'd give a eulogy. After all, this was his companion.

...

...

...

"Nobody."

His voice scraped like metal on stone.

It was strange to say he was... surprised, but he was. It was a palpable tone, and he seemed disappointed in the lack of response.

"This person died. Presumably stuck here, stubbornly protecting you all hoping for someone to come. I counted at least three years. And..."

...

"Nobody says anything?"

… Somebody called out a reply.

…

A small thud came from behind a crowd, then feet came running.

"What? Repeat yourself."

… It seemed they hadn't heard, or hadn't cared to listen properly, so the crowd started passing along the message to whoever spoke.

This... was unbelievable. Nothing.

One Hour Prior...

No Grimm had been found anywhere in the forest. That was what Qrow was here for: To investigate this suspicious occurrence. He was, however, investigating a tangential mystery that may have caused this unusual lack. He wasn't counting on it, but the chances were there.

This also had the added bonus of him having a mildly engaging search while not having to deal with that old man for at least the next hour or so.

"Brothers... How many of these things are there?"

With minimal effort, Qrow pulled himself into yet another wooden alcove. There was a scratched pattern on the surface. Six strokes, crossed by one, repeated an astonishing amount of times. If each one is a Grimm defeated... That's at least 700.

There's no way the village could have hidden the fact that they killed that many Grimm with whatever this trap is. That means this is a viable strategy for a normal person to sit in a tree and potshot Grimm. It's insane.

… It wasn't that the idea was unsound. Qrow just felt it this was a ridiculous version of the method. Twenty eight separate alcoves existed in the forest, all had been roughly carved out of trees. His first assumption was that this was just where some Grimm wandered through and was trapped by the motley group of armed villagers that met him at the town's gate. After all, if they weren't a massive attraction, and the Grimm were strategized against well enough... They could be able to fend off against Grimm for a long time.

Was it really that simple? The only issue he had with this hypothetical plan was a rather simple one: Why would they act surprised when he first entered town for the mission?

He fell to the ground, landing with a small thud.

... This was... interesting. Something had the wrong information here. He just didn't know exactly what.

...

He was not going to call Ozpin, though. Annoyance over these kinds of missions being given to him repeatedly led to him deciding to just go for it.

Perhaps the scratches wasn't a compounded number. It would be a pain to keep doing, but then it makes slightly more sense than three thousand Grimm and counting. Qrow furrowed his brow, and started searching for signs of intentional damage—1280 … is still a sizeable number of Grimm.

He went like this for a good few minutes, walking quietly amidst the trees. Time was spent investigating some broken underbrush, but nothing really significant was found to explain the existence of these intentional tree alcoves. He was spending a day accomplishing nothing useful. If these might-be traps were viable, it would explain the lack of Grimm he was sent to discover the truth behind, but there was nothing.

Nothing at a-

YOU ARE LATE

LATE

LATE

LATE

LATE

LATE-

"What?"

Qrow walked into a clearing and was on guard for a very uncomfortable minute. Something more than what he was seeing made him incredibly weary. Someone was expecting him, and they were furious, if all these harshly scarred words was any indication of the writer's anger.

….

Brothers. I might still be impaired.

…

Nothing. No attacks. He was still standing tall in the clearing. He was the only occupant in an unmoving clearing of scarred trees. After catching his bearings, he started to sprint away from the clearing to search more-

thud.

-and his footstep was quiet. He, running at full speed, in an autumnal forest, made no sound? It was unexpected, but not really important…

Despite this, he looked back. He normally felt like this when he was about to have something really bad happen. Or, slightly less often, when he hadn't fully realised something important yet.

….

The ground… was dead. Not burned, but dead. And the dead ground wasn't isolated to this clearing. By re-entering, and leaving the clearing at a sharp turn left, he was able to follow a trail of dead earth.

… The trees began to get marked again.

FOLLOW, ALL YE MONSTERS.

- WOMAN. THIS MEANS YOU.

Who's writing this?

… Qrow started moving quicker. The writing was a very obvious trail… but for what purpose?

The forest began to blur with his speed, or leftover alcohol, until…

He tripped, and fell headfirst into a tree.

"Curse my rotten lu-"

… Then he read the message on the tree.

DAYS.

That was incredible misfortune on his part to run directly into a tree. It was weird that this was the enigmatic person's message, but he'd also get a bit strange staying in a forest of Grimm for however long. He got up, and went back to where he tripped, and started to find this trail again-

-tok.

A wooden noise. This seemed to be something intentionally left in the ground. Qrow quite easily levered out the wood, now chipped from his foot, and realised this was also, marked.

1280 DAYS. YOU'RE LATE, DEAR.

… Damn. Now he's really invested. He turned the carved wood slab around to examine the other sides for more text.

DON'T KILL THEM.

THEY DIDN'T UNDERSTAND.

MISS YOU.

… That… was an entire day spent not learning much. He was wondering who this writer was, but at this point… there's too much to guess at. At this point, he could at least check for one of those alcoves, then leave.

He'd just explain that this unusual event was just a simple coincidence. With that plan made, he started to climb the tree.

There was more text. Hmm. Maybe this was the writer's base. He'd still have to learn how this message carver tied into the Grimm being nonexistent here… but this was a fine resolution to a little side investigation.

BONY HOUNDS. HATE THEM. MISS YOU. Beowolves? It seemed this was all was intentionally done thinking someone would go here. This could give some proof to the trap idea, and these are messages to guide Hunters to them.

…

But… if these carved trees were Grimm traps…

This writer appeared to be one person. 1280 days… is years. Around three years, if he was right. It was a bit hard to think while focusing intently on tree climbing with low lighting while trying to notice if an unliving creature could be nearby and might pounce on you and try to rend you to pieces.

… If these were Grimm traps… then what was used as bait for the Grimm?

…

…

… Ah. This writer had some conflict with a group that "didn't understand".

… Qrow very gingerly reached his hand into the curve of the carved alcove at the top of the tree.

He touched skin.

Damn it. It was obvious.

Negative emotions. That's the attracting bait for them. He balanced himself against the branches and the main body of the tree, trying to extract the young woman from her carved hideaway. She felt cold, but that was probably just him…

… Her alcove is stained…

That is an incredible amount of blood.

There were weapons underneath her. An axe and… a shotgun. Odd choice to not have any combined weaponry, but mechashift would be hard to come by in an isolated village. No ammunition was in the firearm, and there appeared to be some bulging object in her coat.

He slowly removed the object, noting a felted texture, obviously well loved.

A doll of a girl, dressed in black, with white fabric and string for the skin and hair, and little red eyes.

"How old is this person?" He whispered. They could be one of his nieces, and he knew that if they ever pulled anything like this… he'd be willing to run across the kingdom to rescue them.

Three years.

There was no doubt in his head that they had been a hunter, or at least wanted to. Young children… don't normally go armed into forests and write angry messages about hating "bony hounds".

and they were waiting for someone to come.

He could face all this introspection at a later point though. Now he had to bury this person.

Qrow landed, and drew Harbinger, leaving a large scar in the Earth as he walked along the dead earth. Maybe the kid had some fire Semblance they used to make all these trails. The least he could do was help who they were waiting for get some solace.

He began a slow walk back towards the outside of the forest.