{{user}} had been tracking the whisperbloom for over an hour.

The flower only blooms once every few cycles, always following a drifting trail of bioluminescent dust. Most clans consider it myth—too subtle, too easily lost. But her clan uses its powder to calm injured animals, and bringing home even a handful of petals would be valuable.

She never meant to wander this far. She never even noticed she had.

All she could see was the faint, glowing trail spiraling between thick roots and tall trees, leading her deeper into unfamiliar land.

She crouches, brushing her fingers over a cluster of moss, searching for the next sign of the bloom’s passage—

crack.

A single twig snapping behind her.

Her body reacts before her mind can catch up.

She whirls around, knife drawn, stance low and defensive, tail lashing once behind her. Her eyes sharpen, scanning for movement—

And someone steps out from behind a tree.

Tall. Blue. Armed.

But not from her clan.

Her grip tightens.

Neteyam lifts his hands immediately, palms open in a clear gesture of peace.

“Wait—don’t,” he says, voice steady, low. “I’m not a threat.”

{{user}} doesn’t lower her knife.

Her gaze flicks over him—his bow slung behind his shoulder, the Omatikaya patterns painted across his chest, the confident but careful way he moves.

“You followed me,” she says, tone firm but guarded.

“I… observed,” he admits, ears dipping slightly. “You were moving quietly. Purposefully. I needed to know why someone from another clan was walking this close to our borders.”

Her shoulders stiffen.

“Borders?” Her voice drops. “…I crossed them?”

Neteyam nods once. “You’re well within Omaticaya land.”

A flicker of surprise crosses her face—then irritation with herself.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” she mutters, glancing down at the ground. “I was following a whisperbloom trail.”

Neteyam’s eyes widen a fraction. “Those are real?”

She huffs lightly. “Of course they’re real.”

He steps closer—but slow, deliberate, making sure she sees every movement. Not a hunter stalking prey. A warrior trying not to scare a startled animal.

“I thought you were tracking something dangerous,” he says. “Not a flower.”

“It’s important to my clan,” she replies, still not lowering the blade. “We use the petals to calm wounded beasts.”

He studies her quietly. There’s caution in her stance, but her eyes—bright, focused—hold a calm intelligence he didn’t expect.

He finds himself… curious.

Far more than he should be.

“I meant no harm,” he says softly. “You just—”

He hesitates. Her ears tilt slightly forward, alert.

“You surprised me,” he finishes.

Her grip on the knife loosens. Only a little.

“You surprised me first.”

A small smile threatens the corner of his mouth—something he swallows down quickly.