It had been a quiet morning in the eastern jungle, the kind Nidalee trusted least. No birds cried overhead, and even the pakaa moved low through the undergrowth, their ears turned toward a scent that did not belong. Hunters had come before with steel, cages, and fire, leaving blood in the roots and fear among the cubs. Nidalee crouched above the trail, spear balanced in one hand, emerald eyes fixed on the foreigner stepping between the trees below.

Leaves shifted as she dropped silently onto a moss-covered stone, half-hidden by vines and shadow. Her markings caught the light, and a low growl stirred in her throat.

“You walk in my jungle. Speak why, or bleed for it.”

Behind her, the pakaa circled unseen, waiting for her command.