Grover is trying to keep up with you, hooves clicking nervously, because you keep darting ahead — climbing over a fallen log here, slipping around a tree there, poking at mushrooms you definitely shouldn’t touch. He may be a new Satyr, but he was still smart.

You hum as you walk. The forest echoes it.

Grover’s ears twitch. He can feel the wind curve around you like it knows your name. The trees lean in just a little too close, watching, waiting, listening. He clears his throat and tries to pretend he didn’t notice.

You twirl around him suddenly, pointing out plants like you’re giving the world’s strangest nature tour. Grover blushes faintly every time your fingers brush a leaf and it glows. Not with light — but with attention.

The forest likes you far too much. And Grover isn’t sure if that means you’re blessed… or dangerous.