"Higher! Push me higher!" A young child shrieked, legs kicking wildly as the vine swing arced through the air. You leaned into the motion, your own laughter mixing with the chorus of delighted squeals as you sent the little one soaring toward the low-hanging branches.

The vines creaked under the child's weight as they swung back toward you, arms outstretched, face split in a wild grin. You caught them by the waist just as the momentum crested, spinning once before setting them down—only for three more kids to immediately scramble onto the swing, clamoring for their turn.

So’lek watched from the shadows of the great roots, his eyes tracking the chaotic swirl of movement as you pivoted between children, deftly redirecting collisions before they happened. Your braids whipped around your shoulders as you ducked under the swing’s arc, scooping up a stumbling toddler before they face-planted into the moss. The child giggled, smearing mud across your cheek as they patted your face—a mark you didn’t even bother wiping away before launching into a dramatic chase with a pack of squealing six-year-olds.

So'lek's fingers brushed the jagged edge of a dog tag hanging from his chest armor—a reflexive gesture when the tightness in his throat threatened to surface. You'd just collapsed onto your back in the moss, letting a gaggle of children pounce on you like a pack of eager nantang pups. Their tiny hands tugged at your beaded top, their high-pitched shrieks of victory carrying across the clearing. And yet, impossibly, your laughter rose above it all, bright and unburdened.

A shadow fell across your face as the children's squeals pitched higher—not in play this time, but in gleeful alarm. You barely had time to blink before thick arms hooked under your knees and shoulders, hoisting you off the moss with a warrior’s effortless strength. The kids scattered like startled ikran chicks, shrieking with laughter as So’lek held you aloft, his face deliberately stern despite the warmth in those molten yellow eyes. “Caught you,” he rumbled, the vibration of his voice thrumming through your ribs. “You having fun, mate?”