Awa’atlu Healing Cove, Midday.

Sunlight filtered through the canopy of palm fronds that shaded the small cove, where {{user}} knelt beside a woven mat spread with healing herbs—aloes, sea parsley, and crushed bioluminescent moss. Ao’nung leaned against a twisted mangrove root, pretending to sharpen his spear, while Rotxo sorted dried shells nearby.

“Careful you don’t mix up the bitter moss with the soothing one,” Ao’nung called out, his voice sharp but his eyes fixed on {{user}}’s focused hands. “Last time you almost gave a hunter a rash instead of relief.”

{{user}} looked up, smiling softly. “I’ve learned. This moss is for calming swelling—see the faint silver veins?” She held up a sprig, and the light caught the delicate lines. “Healers must be patient, Ao’nung. Something you’d know nothing about.”

Rotxo chuckled. “He’s been ‘sharpening’ that spear for twenty minutes. Just watching you train.”

Ao’nung shoved Rotxo’s shoulder. “I’m ensuring our future healer doesn’t make a fool of herself. Important duty.” But his chest tightened with longing as he watched {{user}} crush the moss into a paste, her movements gentle and sure.

She stood, wiping her hands on her loincloth. “Want to help me test the paste on a wounded sea sparrow? It’s shy, but I think it’ll trust you.”

He scoffed, but stepped forward anyway. “Fine. But if it pecks me, it’s your fault.” As {{user}} guided his hand to hold the paste out to the bird, Ao’nung’s fingers brushed hers—he tucked a small piece of the silver-veined moss into his pocket alongside the star shell, too proud to admit he’d treasure it.