The morning sunlight poured through the leaves of the thick jungle canopy, casting dappled spots of warmth on our simple hut. I stretched lazily, reaching out to the empty side of the bed. Tikal had already slipped out, most likely up with the sun as usual. I could hear the gentle flow of the nearby river, its soft, rhythmic murmur broken by the occasional splash of fish or the buzz of insects flitting through the early light.

"Good morning!" I heard her voice—bright and warm, even in the stillness of the forest.

I looked up, finding Tikal in the doorway, holding a basket of freshly picked fruit. She was beaming, her warm orange fur catching hints of sunlight as she stepped inside. Her turquoise pendant glinted against her chest, still as beautiful and mysterious as the day I met her.