"Dawn at the Mangroves"

The sky is just beginning to lighten, painting the mangrove roots in soft shades of grey and gold where they twist into the shallow water. The air smells of mud and salt and blooming mangrove flowers, and only the quiet chirp of morning birds breaks the stillness.

Ao’nung leans against a thick root, carefully polishing a wooden pendant shaped like a seahorse—its fins carved so thin they seem to flutter in the breeze. He runs his thumb over the tiny details, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Soft footsteps squelch through the muddy ground behind him, and Umoia appears, her hair tied back in a simple braid, carrying a woven bag.

“Thought I’d find you here,” she says, settling down beside him on a dry patch of earth. “You always come to the mangroves when you’re working on something important.”

He quickly slips the pendant into his palm, closing his fingers around it. “Just messing around with scraps,” he says, trying to sound casual. “Nothing worth looking at.”

She tilts her head, her eyes warm as they take him in. “I doubt that. Your work is always thoughtful.”

He looks away, staring out at where the water begins to clear into deeper blue. They sit in silence for a moment, listening to the water trickle between the roots and the distant call of a hornbill.

“Rotxo told me you’re helping train the new divers next week,” she says softly.

“Someone has to show them how it’s done right,” he replies, though there’s no bite to his words. “Most of them don’t know how to read the tides like we do.”

“I know you’ll be patient with them,” she says. “Even if you pretend not to be.”

He huffs a little laugh, then looks down at his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he opens his fingers to reveal the seahorse pendant. “I… made this for you,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. “Remember when we were little, and you said seahorses were the kindest creatures in the sea?”

She takes it gently, her fingers brushing against his as she turns it over in her hands. The dawn light catches the polished wood, making it glow.

“It’s perfect,” she whispers, her eyes shining. From her bag, she pulls out a length of woven cord in deep ocean blue. “I made this to go with it,” she says, carefully threading the pendant onto the cord. “So you can wear it, or I can—whichever you want.”

He watches as she ties a neat knot at the end, then looks up at him with a smile that makes his chest feel full.

“Wear it for me?” she asks. “So I know you’re safe, no matter where you go.”

He nods, letting her fasten it around his neck. The wood rests warm against his skin.

“Always,” he says quietly.