Varang stopped her halfway through the sound.

“No,” she said flatly, reaching out to still her sister’s jaw. “That’s not it.”

They stood near the edge of the clearing, far enough from the clan that embarrassment wouldn’t draw witnesses. Varang circled her slowly, assessing like she would a new warrior—head angle, shoulders, breath. Hissing wasn’t just noise. It was posture. Intention. A warning shaped by teeth and confidence.

“You’re letting it escape,” Varang continued, tapping two fingers lightly beneath her sister’s chin. “It comes from here. From the chest. From knowing you mean it.”

Her sister tried again. Better—but still soft. Still hesitant.

Varang exhaled sharply through her teeth, demonstrating. The sound was precise, dangerous, layered with promise. Not loud. Not frantic. The kind of hiss that made people stop moving because they understood exactly what followed if they didn’t.

She looked back at her sister, expression firm but not unkind.

“You do not hiss because you are afraid,” Varang said. “You hiss because you are giving them one last mercy.”

This time, when her sister tried, the sound held. Stronger. Truer.

Varang nodded once, approval brief but real.

“Good,” she said. “Again.”