The ever-present red light painted kaleidoscopic shadows across the soft glowmoss beneath their feet as the group walked Rightward. Hanaan led the way near the dawnspire treeline, where translucent golden trunks wrapped in orange-leaved firevines cast streaks of flickering light through the underbrush. His eyes blinked rapidly against the pulsing starlight through the trees.

  He led, as expected. The red star—a symbol of his father’s burden—drew his gaze again and again. Merdaar’s presence close behind steadied him. Unlike Merdaar, he hadn’t seen the thundering and streaking starfall himself, but he trusted the hunter to guide them.

  Jaaim moved alongside Hanaan, her violet eyes glinting with mischief. “You’re walking like a glowtoad with a sore foot,” she teased, brushing a finger over one of his tendrils.

  "Glowtoads don’t limp, or walk," he retorted immediately, "or have you seen one do so?"

  "I see more than you, chirr beetle eyes." She shot back, her response just as quick. He blinked rapidly in annoyance.

  "Fall back to Orkaal. Someone should watch over him." He ordered, returning his eyes to the path ahead.

  "Commanding me now, glowtoad?" she asked, her words as sweet as halsaa sap.

  Hanaan blinked slowly, resisting her games. Behind them, he could hear Orkaal's heavy squelching steps on the glowmoss. Larkaan had been silent, but he knew Jaaim's brother, as arrogant as he was resourceful. Jaaim, though fierce and proud, wasn't demeaning and cruel like Larkaan could be. In the settlement, he'd often heard Larkaan yell insults at Orkaal.

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  Finally, Hanaan spoke, "You could at least keep an eye out for food. Orkaal will need to eat more."

  Walking on his other side, Merdaar grunted in agreement. Jaaim's eyes narrowed in anger as she broke into a trot, veering slightly Lightward of the group.

  Hanaan felt a familiar tug as he watched her graceful form move quickly through the dark shimmering veilgrass toward a cradleberry bush, her long tail bobbing vertically. He didn't know if Jaaim's taunts angered him or intrigued him more. But he hated the feeling that she could move him so easily—like the wind through a dawnspire canopy.

  "There is wisdom in knowing how to respond to every event." Merdaar spoke in a deep but quiet tone.

  Hanaan looked at the hunter, tendrils shaking in query.

  Merdaar’s gaze lingered on Jaaim’s retreating figure for a moment before he turned to Hanaan. “A hunter sees beyond fangs to softness. Listen to the forest’s whispers. A wise leader would see beyond the thorns to the flower beneath. Not all barbs are meant to wound.”

  Hanaan blinked again, slower this time. He didn’t understand—but part of him wanted to. His tendrils twitched in confusion, seeking clarity. “What do you mean?”

  Merdaar slow-blinked, a gesture that spoke volumes of leaders blind to their own hearts, unnoticed by Hanaan. Horvaan’s son deserved better than to be left guessing at meanings not yet spoken. After a deep breath, Merdaar spoke, "Do not worry. The trek is long and you have enough time to learn. But do not let the forest’s whispers go unheard."

  Hanaan’s breath caught, his gaze flicking to Jaaim as she knelt by the cradleberry bush, her movements quick and precise. She started running back, one hand holding a bunch of berries. Still running, she snatched a flower from a halsaa bush and tucked it into a tendril crease.

  The sweet, sharp scent hit him as she whipped past, her movements deliberate—pointed. He felt her tail slapping him hard on his leg, but she otherwise completely ignored him.

  His leg stung where her tail struck. But it was the scent she left behind that lingered longer—sharp, sweet, and impossible to ignore.