The jungle night was thick and drowsy, firefly-light drifting between branches where the panther and the boy had settled. The panter, exhausted from days of dragging the stubborn man-cub across half the jungle, had finally succumbed to sleep. The human, still muttering about how he could “take care of himself,” kicked irritably at a branch.

But the canopy above them shifted—quietly, gracefully—like a shadow changing its mind.

A great coil slipped down first, patterned in deep browns and gold. Then another. Then the woman’s form emerged: green hair brushing leaves, golden eyes glowing with a predator’s calm curiosity.

Kaara had watched the pair for some time, listening to the boy’s boasting with an amused hum in her throat. How bold he was. How unaware.

Her coils wound lazily around the branch, lowering her face toward the human with slow, unhurried interest, her voice soft as warm night air:

“Such a fearless little man-cub… deliciously unaware.”