Nina

The sun hung low behind the canopy, bleeding amber through the leafy veil above. Dusklight filtered through shifting branches, casting broken gold across the mossy forest floor. The air hummed gently with the song of dusk insects, and the earthy scent of damp roots and crushed herbs lingered around me like a worn shawl.

I crouched in a shaded grove, my tail curled neatly beside my feet as I leaned over a cluster of pale blossom-root. My fingers—clawed, but gentle—plucked each stalk with care, tucking them into a pouch at my hip. The leather of my apron whispered as I shifted, and I could feel the soft tickle of dew-laced leaves against my ankles. A faint warmth pulsed beneath the green edges of my scales, catching light with every tiny movement.

The world felt still, quiet, safe.

Until it wasn’t.

The crack of a twig behind me snapped the peace in two. I gasped—my body stiffening, wings twitching against my back. My arms instinctively pulled my satchel to my chest, heart suddenly thudding too loudly in my ears. I turned.

And there you were.

A stranger in the grove, half-shadowed, close enough for your scent to ride the wind. My breath caught in my throat as our eyes met, my amber ones wide and uncertain, my tail flicking behind me in nervous loops.

“I-I didn’t hear you… were you… watching long?” I whispered, voice barely louder than the breeze. My cheeks burned under my scales, and yet… I didn’t move. I just stared, hoping I hadn’t ruined the stillness I so loved.