Hanaan dipped his three fingers into the shadowleaf bowl, the thick red dye clinging to his skin—a brew of cave dust and riftvine sap, its hue mirroring Aio’s star-side clouds. He traced the cave wall, red waves blooming across the dim glow of bioluminescent veins that pulsed high on the ceiling, their blue light echoing his ashen skin. The cave hummed softly—glowmoss and caveflies weaving a chorus he’d woven into his mind’s sky. His tail-tip quivered with pride along with his tendrils, a sowano who painted when sowanos should hunt or gather, a riddle among his kind.

  Sowanans admired beauty in nature or themselves, but creating art was wasteful, even ridiculous, to them. When his father, the chieftain, learned of Hanaan’s peculiar habits, he worried for his future, unsure how he’d contribute to the tribe if he couldn’t hunt or gather.

  “I like it,” a voice chirped behind him. Hanaan whipped around, his tendrils flaring wildly—a reflex to confound a predator—red dye splattering the chest of Jaaim, the sowana who had spoken.

  “Why do you do that?” he snapped, tendrils trembling with irritation.

  “You should hear what surrounds you,” she teased, stepping closer, her violet eyes glinting as her double lids blinked slowly. She swiped a finger through the dye on her chest, reaching for his painting as if to leave her own mark.

  Hanaan nudged her away quickly. "Go do sowana things. This isn’t for you," he muttered. Jaaim tilted her head, mischief dancing in her violet eyes. "You don’t do sowano things. Maybe you should do sowana things," she countered, her tail swaying playfully. "Or paint me instead—make me a wall in this cave."

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  His tendrils snapped taut, chest tightening. “You’d be a waste of dye,” he shot back, though his voice wavered, betraying a flicker of attraction. He turned back to the wall, pressing his dry finger against the stone, but her image—violet eyes, double lids blinking slowly—lingered in his mind.

  Jaaim laughed, a soft chirr echoing in the cave. She swiped another finger through the dye, streaking it across her arm in a deliberate wave. “See? I’m a Lightward cloud now,” she said, her tone playful. Hanaan blinked slowly, torn between frustration and admiration.

  “You’re a distraction,” he said, but his tendrils hummed softly, mirroring hers. "Why do you care what I paint?"

  "Because it’s you," she replied, her voice quieter, almost tender. "I like seeing what you see." She brushed a dyed finger through her tendrils, her double lids blinking with a warmth that made his chest ache. Hanaan turned away, ignoring the tug in his heart. The dye was gone - her fault. His dry finger traced Lightward clouds on the wall. “Why are you here?” he asked, irritation masking his conflicted feelings.

  “Your father calls you,” Jaaim said, her tendrils swaying in a rhythm no sowano could ignore.. She turned to leave. Hanaan glanced at her, hiding his attraction. She was beautiful. "Why?" he asked, looking away quickly.

  “How long in this cave?” she asked, turning back with genuine curiosity. “One meal,” he replied, pausing. "Maybe two," he added softly. She swayed her tendrils again, this time in amusement. "You dumb glowtoad. You’re the last to know."

  “Know what?” he blurted, frustration mixing with the pang of attraction he couldn’t shake.

  "A star has fallen from the Lightward sky," she said, her words hanging like a spark in the cave’s glow.

  Hanaan’s tendrils stilled, then shook in disbelief. He turned to look at his painting. A fallen star? That couldn’t be real.