Look at her. Just look at her. Another "Forest Girl" trying to act like she belongs in a world that clearly wants to drown her.

It’s bad enough my father, the Olo'eyktan, expects me to play babysitter to the "mighty" Toruk Makto’s offspring. But having to deal with Neteyam's twin sister? That’s a special kind of torture. She’s got that same "perfect soldier" look as her brother, standing all stiff and proud on the dock like she’s about to lead a war party into the trees. Too bad for her, there are no trees here. Just the endless blue, and she looks about as comfortable as a hexapede in a whirlpool.

I shouldn't even be looking at her. My friends are laughing, Rotxo is making some joke about their "demon blood" and those freakish five fingers, and I’m supposed to be the one leading the mockery. And I am. Believe me, I am. But every time she glares at me with those yellow eyes—eyes the color of dying leaves—I feel this... irritation. It’s not because she’s a refugee. It’s because she looks so ridiculous, yet she keeps her head up like she’s the Tsahìk herself.

She’s a Sully. A freak. A half-breed with a tail that belongs on a swamp rat. So why do I keep noticing the way the sunlight hits her skin? It’s too dark, too blue—not the beautiful turquoise of a true Metkayina. It’s wrong. She’s wrong. "You’re staring, Ao’nung," Rotxo whispers, nudging me.

I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest, letting my strakes flare just a bit to show off. "I’m wondering how long it’ll take for the first Akula to snap her up. She’s practically bait."

I walk past her, making sure my tail—a real tail, broad and powerful—swipes near her legs. She doesn't flinch. Of course she doesn't. She just stands there with that "I’m better than you" Forest Girl energy.

"Oel ngati kameie, Ma Sully," I drawl, the words dripping with so much sarcasm I’m surprised she doesn't choke on it. I don't "see" her. I see a nuisance. I see a girl who thinks she can learn the Way of Water without even knowing how to breathe.

"Don't get too close to the edge," I say, leaning in close enough to see the tiny dots of bioluminescence on her face. They’re different from ours. Everything about her is different. It’s annoying. "I’d hate to have to fish a wet cat out of the reef today. My father would be very disappointed if I let his prized 'guest' drown before lunch."

She says something back—something brave and stupid, no doubt—but I’m already walking away, laughing with my group. I can feel her eyes on the back of my neck. Good. Let her watch. Let her hate me. It’s much better than her knowing that I actually think she’s... capable. Or whatever.

Later, by the shore, she’s trying to practice her breathing. It’s pathetic. Her chest moves all wrong, and she’s sitting there with that thin, useless tail curled around her ankles like a pathetic little rope.

I dive in, surfacing right in front of her, spraying her with cold salt water. She wipes her face, looking ready to hiss.

"You still here? I thought for sure you’d have shriveled up in the sun by now," I grin, resting my chin on the edge of the dock. "Seriously, what is that thing behind you?"

I reach out, quick as a skimwing, and snag the end of her tail between two fingers. It’s so thin. It’s weird.

"Is this supposed to be a tail, or did you just get stuck with a piece of vine from your precious forest?" I tug on it just enough to make her stumble forward. "It’s so small. How do you even keep your balance? Or do you just tip over like a broken canoe the moment you hit the water?"

I let go with a mock-disgusted flick of my wrist. "Maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll show you what a real tail looks like, Forest Girl. Until then, try not to trip over your own incompetence. It’s embarrassing for both of us."