Myrrha hated this. Being left behind for a flesh wound was bad enough, but being ordered to stay put for a week? Torture. Now, it was just her and Kiri in the healing hut.

Even Thrawn had deserted them. When Junka and Dinka dragged her back to the tribe, he was the first to welcome them. She remembered it clear as day despite the fog of pain. Nya dropped the eggs she had so carefully carried, letting them crack on the ground just to free her hands. In an instant, she had scooped Thrawn into her arms, licking him senselessly until his hair was dripping wet.

The mothers cooed at the scene, but Myrrha was just thankful Nya hadn’t been the one supporting her. She was certain she’d have been dropped.

The scene gnawed at her. Myrrha’s tail flicked in irritation; it wasn’t the grooming—mothers always did that. No, it was how Nya had fallen to her knees, her tail curled around Thrawn, and tears streaming. Was this the same Nya who had threatened her two nights ago? She preferred that Nya.

Her tail slashed against the straw mat. Myrrha couldn’t imagine falling apart like that—not in a thousand seasons. Then again, she also never imagined being stuck in the tribe while her second led the hunt.

Her cadre setting out without her felt wrong. Her mind kept circling all the things that could go wrong: they might stray out of their territory and draw the ire of a neighboring tribe, or stumble into that damn wawayu—the cursed thing that still wailed by all signs.

How would Nya focus on her nose while dealing with Satha’s sathaness? Who would help Dinka catch death frogs for her blow-darts? And how would old Junka handle the younger ones without her telling them to back down?

There was too much unknown—and too much at stake.

If it were up to her, she would have come, wounds be damned, but the cadre was of the tribe, not hers, she merely led it.

Now, all she could do was stare at the ceiling, occasionally stealing sideways glances, only to find Kiri immobile, her tail waving sinuously between her legs. She kept her gaze fixed upward as if the ceiling were the most fascinating piece of straw ever weaved.

Myrrha had kept quiet until now, maintaining the same distance she usually did with the cadres' younger members, especially in a vulnerable position as she was now. Still, boredom coupled with anxiety took its toll, and she urged for any chance to escape it.

She glanced at Kiri beside her, who kept her gaze fixed upwards, the same as she had for the last couple of hours. Myrrha parted her lips, thinking of starting a conversation.

It should have been easy, after all. They spent almost every day together, even if never alone, but as hard as Myrrha tried, she always arrived at the horrifying realization that, despite knowing her for years, Kiri was mostly a stranger to her.

Myrrha knew virtually nothing about Kiri besides her talent for stealth and patience for stalking. She was quiet and awkward at times but deadly effective when she needed to be.

However, that was Kiri the huntress, not Kiri the tribe-sister.

Myrrha supposed she knew Kiri was a raid orphan. Her mother had died when she was very young, meaning she was raised by a tribe mother, meaning Satha, which explained why the proud loudmouth would be so close to Kiri of all people.

However, she was almost sure that Kiri’s orphaning or questioning her friendships would not make for the best topic of conversation, so she conceded defeat and mustered the will to ask the most general. “Are you all right? After what happened.” While not quite turning to her.

“Yes.”

Myrrha waited for her to elaborate, but nothing came, so she pushed forward. “Say what you will, but it was quite the sight down there, I have never seen anything quite like it.” She peeked sideways, trying to gauge her reaction, but found none. “And those bodies? It was like they were charred, but there was no ash down there, just that grime.”

Silence.

Myrrha took a deep sigh. “What do you think, Kiri?” She turned fully to her.

Kiri was quiet for an uncomfortable while until she finally spoke, “I don’t know.”

Myrrha lifted her back, facing her directly. “You… don’t know?”

“Yes.” She nodded.

Myrrha fell back down, mouth agape. Yes, she knew Kiri didn’t; she’d be impressed if she did, but that was not the point! “How do you ‘not know’? We go into the depths of a deep-one lair and find legions of our people scorched to the bone, a strange grime all around – nearly die – and you ‘don’t know?’”

Kiri frowned at the ceiling but otherwise didn’t react. “But… I don’t know.”

Myrrha cringed, laying back down. “That is not what I- Fine!” She raised her arms in mock surrender. She had wanted a thought, an opinion, a back-and-forth over the most interesting thing that had happened to them since the monkey-man, but it seemed that despite her keen eyes, Kiri was blind to what could be.

Seeing this topic go nowhere, Myrrha gave up. “Very well, Kiri. What do you know then? What do you want to talk about?”

“Talk?”

“Yes! Talk, kill some time. It can be about anything, your choice – your first commands it!” She folded her arms behind her head, closing her eyes.

Kiri seemed to meditate on it for a while, her eyes narrowing before finally responding: “Canoes.”

Myrrha opened them again, creeping her neck towards her. “Canoes?”

“Yes.” She stated, but her tail waved, betraying her tone.

This time, it was Myrrha’s turn to be quiet, unsure if Kiri was joking, only to let a dry, purring laugh escape at her own expense. “Very well, Kiri.” She calmed herself, reasoning at least it was something. “What about canoes do you find interesting?”

“I don’t know, I just do.”

Myrrha felt her tail flicking with a thud on the straw mat. She took a breath. “Yes, then… well, we found that huge canoe recently. You must have found that interesting, no? I did, even though I don’t… well, it is not that I dislike canoes, I simply don’t seem to share your… enthusiasm. For them.”

She expected a response, but after a while, it was clear none was coming.

“Kiri?” Myrrha tried again.

“Yes?”

“The large canoe—what did you think of it?”

“I liked it.”

That… was that.

Myrrha rose to her feet, making her way to the door deciding she had had quite enough of Kiri for one day.

“Where are you going?” They called after her.

“Out,” Myrrha all but grumbled, forcing herself to walk straight despite the soaring pain on her tight.

“But the tribe-mother-”

“Well, she better drag me back here then!” Myrrha roared as she punched through the straw curtain.

Her pupils shrank into narrow slits as she adjusted to the midday sun. She glanced around, searching for a distraction, but all she saw were kittens tussling and finding humor in the most absurd things—nothing out of the ordinary. One of the guards, a bald huntress she was certain was called Luaka, shot her a questioning look but didn’t linger. After all, she was a patient, not a prisoner. While the matriarch could decide on matters concerning the tribe—such as whether an infirm individual could join the hunt—only the Goddess dictated where a Felix could and could not go.

That being said, she found herself with few options. Playing with the kittens would be the go-to for most, but she was not most, and in a stretch of bad luck the guarding cadre was Tara’s, so she would find few friends there. It was not that Tara had an issue with her, the giantess just didn’t like anyone she could not command and Myrrha was just one of those ‘lucky’ few.

Despite this, she was determined not to spend the next fortnight huddled in the dark like a kitten with a fever with nothing but Kiri for company.

Then her eyes settled on the captive’s hut, where Juan lived - or was kept, depending on who you asked. The status of the monkey-man in the tribe remained unclear, he was kept as a prisoner yet was not an enemy, or at least did nothing to suggest he was. However, no matter how hard she tried, fear spoke louder than words. Thus, the monkey-man remained chained, even though she was quite certain that the jungle itself was cage enough; even if Juan ran, he would’t last a day.

She could not deny that Juan intrigued her, not just for the secrets he held but he himself. She had visited him quite frequently at a point, both of them weaving the night away, but the judgment of the tribe was heavy when the subject was the monkey-man, and even she knew that, if she wanted him to stay alive, Juan needed to be the source of as little conflict as possible.

That being said, she was a first of her tribe and would be damned if she would be shunned back into the shadow by the cowardly and narrowminded of all people. With that, Myrrha took a deep breath and drudged forward, doing her best not to limp. As she approached, she heard purring and halted just short of the entrance, tilting her head to peek through the beaded curtain. Inside, she saw Juan kneeling on the ground, carving tiny methodical shapes into the dirt.

She blinked, unsure of what he was doing, then Lyra came into frame - his caretaker, or warden, once again dependant on who you asked, her tail waving with mischief. Without warning she kicked the dirt he carved into his face, undoing his work.

She purred a laugh. “Aww… no more drawings for the poor monkey.” She mocked leaning down to meet his eyes. Rather than rise, Juan averted her gaze, his fists clenching on his sides; despite being fully grown, the Lyra towered almost a head over him. This wasn’t a fight he could win and the kitten rejoiced in it.

The sight bothered Myrrha. She didn’t fancy helplessness and hated seeing it in others. However, there was little she could do, taking his side would only anger Lyra and come back to haunt him - she couldn’t protect him forever, and the matriarch was right when she said the jungle devoured the weak.

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She was about to leave and come at a better time, but then she saw something in his eyes. Not anger - no, that would be foolish, but something just as hard. Instead of cowering he simply cleaned his face with his arm and restarted his drawings in the dirt right in front of Lyra.

That extracted the faintest growl from the kitten “How many times am I going to teach you…”

Myrrha entered the hut, parting the curtain and stopping the youngling in her tracks.

“Myrrha…”

“Don’t you have anyone else to bother, Lyra?”

The kitten did not bat an eye before scampering off, Myrrha let her.

Juan glanced up, thankful but not quite grateful before unceremoniously bowing his head and resuming his work.

Myrrha watched him, unsure of what he was trying to accomplish before crouching beside him. “What are you drawing?”

He ignored her, which intrigued more than disgruntled her, mostly because now she knew why. Every day she was not there meant he was with Lyra. She wondered if he blamed her for it, but even if he did it wouldn’t matter.

“I know you can understand me. I taught you, you can't just pretend otherwise.”

He stopped. “A bit.” He admitted before returning to his task.

“Enough to answer my question?”

Juan swallowed in stark annoyance, clenching the stick in his hand. “Is not drawing,” he finally said, his felix broken but understandable. “Is writing.”

She raised an eyebrow “Writing? And what’s that?” She fixated on the most recent carvings as if she could will herself into understanding them.

“Writing. My people write – draw words.”

She tilted her head to the side “Draw… words? Why not just draw the thing itself? Easier than… this, no?”

He stopped again, pondering for a while, finally answering“Not everything can be drawn. No draw love, no draw hope, but others you what is, so we write word.” He scribbles something down “This ‘love’”

With that, he looked eagerly back up at her. Their gazes locked, Myrrha leaned closer, only for her tail to drop. “That’s stupid.”

He laughed out loud, barring his teeth, which left Myrrha confused, she was not meaning to be funny. It was like he was mocking her, almost. She considered ending things here and there, but she could not deny there was clearly something he knew - or thought he knew - about the drawings that she didn’t. “Fine, what are you ‘writing’ about then?”

“About here.” He shrugged.

“Here? You mean… the tribe?”

He nodded, “Yes, well, about tribe. About Jungle. About Lumaria… about you.”

She backed off a bit, her mouth agape as her tail came alive behind her. “About me?” She swallowed “What could you possibly be drawing- I mean what did you write about me?”

“I- well, Lyra keeps erasing.” He confided.

Myrrha nodded, fiddling with her fingers, unsure how to respond to that. Nevertheless, she gladly took the cure to veer into less personal topics. “Well… so you are interested in Lumaria?”

He nodded.

“Why?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Because nobody knows about luminaria—not really. Stories. Legend. I may be the first to know.”

First to know. That stuck with her, she felt the same when she ventured beyond what common sense told her she probably should. Maybe he, against all rhyme and reason understood it, somehow.

“How about you, where are you from?”

“Me?” He seemed startled.

“I don’t see anyone else here. Come on, is it, like, a bunch of tall trees? Monkeys like trees… right?”

He laughs even harder “No. No trees.”

“So, like a clearing?”

“Bigger.” He stands up, excited. “Huge green clearing, far as the eye can see. Like- like a sea!”

“Like a… a green sea… of land?” She purrs amusingly, leaning back, spreading her legs, relaxed. “Impossible! Where did all the trees go then?”

His smile faded at the sight of her, his cheeks reddening. He averted his gaze but did not stop. “We… cut them.”

“Cut? Just how much wood do you even need?” Myrrha could hardly believe it; her people chopped down wood, which was true, but they only plucked some stray hairs while he talked about shaving the jungle bare.

“I, well- we use it for many things like homes and- and… ”

“And the canoe you came in.” She finished for him, seizing on the opportunity to know more. “The ‘ship,’ right?”

He swallowed and nodded, still averting her eyes from her.

Her tail flickered. “Listen, if I was going to eat you, I’d already done it, but you looking away is giving me the itch to pounce, and if I do, it won't be pretty.”

He flinched, his gaze flickering back to her before his cheeks flushed and he turned away again.

“What? Don’t your people look each other in the eyes?”

“No, that is not it! S-sorry I- It’s just”

“Just what?”

“You’re naked!” He blurted.

Myrrha blinked, her tail freezing mid-sway. "I’m what?"

Juan’s face burned crimson, and his gaze dropped to the dirt again, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “I—I mean, not naked naked! Just, um, you… no clothes. Like… not the way my people be used to.”

A beat passed, the jungle’s creeks creeping into the silence between them. Then Myrrha let out a deep, throaty purr of laughter, the kind that made her ears flick. “Clothes?” she said, savoring the word like it was some bizarre fruit she’d never tasted before. “You’re embarrassed because I’m not covered up in layers of… what, fabric? Fur? Feathers?”

“Fabric,” he mumbled, his stick drawing chaotic loops in the dirt now, erasing the symbols he’d been carefully etching moments before. “It’s just… different. For us.”

“For us,” she repeated, leaning forward now, her face inching closer to his. He flinched but didn’t move away, and she grinned, baring her sharp teeth—not threatening, but playful, probing. “What exactly do these ‘clothes’ do for you, hmm? Keep you warm? Protect you? Or are they just there so no one has to feel…” She paused, tilting her head as if trying to read his thoughts through his nervous, darting eyes. “Exposed?”

“All of that,” he admitted quietly. His hand tightened around the stick like it was a lifeline. “It’s… respect. For yourself. For others. You’re a lady.”

“Lady,” she echoed, the word foreign in her mouth. She leaned back on her feet, her tail flicking against the dirt behind her. “What’s that?”

He cleared his throat, and despite the absence of a tail, Myrrha could see his mind toiling in search of a suitable answer. She did not think it would be hard, and when it came to words and terms, he always answered quickly and with surprising decisiveness, which gave her the impression she would not like the answer. Meaning he would dance around it.

“Lady is… woman of my kind.”

“What is a woman?”

“It’s… you. You are. I man, you woman.”

“Ah…” She muttered, doing her best to pretend she understood. Why so many names for the same thing?

“So you call males men, your females women. So what do you lot call yourselves?”

“Human.”

“What now?” She tilted her head.

“Is what I am: human.” He swallowed, taking a deep breath before facing her, although his eyes kept avoiding her chest “You.”

“What am I, you mean?”

He nodded.

“Felix, I am of the Felix.”

“Of the…?” His curiosity slipped, more natural than before.

“Of the Felix people. Aren’t you of the humans?” She tilted her head, leaning closer. She could not reason why, but the way he talked fascinated her. His words were correct, even if his pronunciation could use some work, but how he phrased them was odd. Juan continually employed words that did not fit to explain things she thought she knew all too well.

“Of…” his voice trailed off, ruminating over his response a bit longer than before. “I am… ‘of’ Casmere.”

“So you are a Casmere, not human then?”

“No!” he waved his hands in denial. “I am Casmere, but also human. Casmere is… place, a kingdom… or was.” He shook his head as if abandoning a dark thought. “Is- is… like, I mean” he struggled to find the words, “Just like you of your tribe I am of Casmere.”

“I’m not ‘of’ my tribe; I’m a huntress of my tribe.”

He seemed confused, yet instead of cowering, he leaned closer, reaching for his stick and scribbling something in the dirt. “How?”

“How?” Myrrha found herself at a loss for words. This was so simple, and yet now that she was compelled to explain, it sounded complicated. “I… am a huntress, as a huntress, I am of my tribe.” She points to herself, “But as Myrrha, as me, I am of the Felix.”

“So you… belong to your people?” He looked up and down.

Myrrha stopped, her tail flicking absently against the mat as she considered his words. A Felix belonged to no one. Command was earned, not given, and even then, a leader could only ask, never take. The matriarch might forbid her from joining the hunt, but no one could tell her where she could or couldn’t go. Only Myrrha led Myrrha.

The thought gnawed at her as she glanced sideways at Juan, who sat hunched over, fiddling with the dirt at his feet. He spoke of kingdoms, of belonging to something larger than himself. The idea prickled at her, but she couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or disdain.

“What about you?” she asked, breaking the silence. “You said you were of a ‘kingdom.’ What is that?”

Juan’s head lifted, his eyes narrowing as he searched for the right words. “It’s… like a big tribe.”

A big tribe? Myrrha’s ears flicked. The words rang hollow. The Felix were a tribe, but they owed no allegiance beyond themselves. She couldn’t imagine a tribe so large that its members would lose sight of one another.

“How big?” she pressed.

He hesitated, then gestured upward. “Very big. We build giant… huts of wood as tall as the trees.”

Her ears perked, interest slipping past her irritation despite herself. Some trees in the deep jungle reached skyward for hundreds of paces, their trunks thick enough to swallow the sun.

“How…” She narrowed her eyes. “How do they not crush themselves? Or get blown over in the storms?”

“They don’t,” he said simply, his gaze steady now. “They stand strong.”

That answer wasn’t good enough. Not for her. Juan spoke of things beyond her experience — things that sounded impossible. She wanted details. Proof.

“How?”

His mouth quirked, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. There was something familiar in that smile — something she recognized in herself when she knew she held the answer to a question others hadn’t thought to ask.

“They’re made of stone.”

Stone.

The word sat between them like a pebble dropped into still water.

For a moment, Myrrha’s mind flickered to the squisher tunnels — those dark, twisting passages carved deep into the rock. Stone could be shaped, she supposed, though what sort of people would go to such lengths to build something so large and heavy?

Fear stirred briefly in her chest, but she pushed it down. Curiosity gnawed harder than fear, and her mind raced ahead, imagining giant stone huts clawing at the sky like trees. The image unsettled her, but it also intrigued her.

“Sounds… impressive,” she murmured, the thought slipping free before she could stop it.

She expected him to beam with pride, but Juan’s shoulders sagged instead. His gaze fell to the ground, and a long, weary sigh escaped him.

“Yes…” he said quietly, his voice distant.

Sadness. Myrrha hadn’t expected that. The weight in his tone made her ears twitch in irritation. She wanted to know more, but the moment was fragile, like a dry leaf in her palm. Push too hard, and it would crumble to dust.

Still, curiosity won out.

“And where did you fit in all of this?”

His head jerked up slightly, eyes darting toward her, wary and unsure. “What?”

“You.” Myrrha’s tail flicked lazily behind her, though her gaze sharpened. “What did you do in this great kingdom of yours? Build those stone huts?” She snorted softly. “I doubt it. Your hands aren’t rough enough for that.”

Juan bit his lip, his eyes dropping again. Silence stretched between them as he wrestled with an answer. She waited, watching him closely. This question had hit something raw.

Finally, he spoke, voice low and careful. “I… learn things.”

Her ears twitched, confusion knotting her brow. “Learn things? Everyone learns things.”

“No, no.” He shook his head, more emphatic this time. “I… learn more. More than others.” He hesitated, his words clumsy. “I learn… past things. Words. Language.”

Language.

The word sparked something in her. Her mind flickered to the scribbles carved into the cave walls, the strange marks no one could understand. Could they be… words? Could Juan read them?

She studied him more closely now, her gaze narrowing.

“You speak of this ‘language’ like it’s magic,” she said.

Juan shrugged. “Not magic. Just… knowledge. Stories, laws, ideas… kept in words.”

She considered that for a long moment. The Felix passed knowledge through stories and song, through memories carried in their hearts and mouths. But Juan spoke of carving those memories into stone, preserving them for seasons upon seasons. That sounded like power — strange, foreign power.

Her tail stilled. “Words carved into stone?”

She couldn’t help it — her mind flickered to the cave walls, to the marks no one could understand. The mystery had gnawed at her for seasons, a question with no answer. And now, perhaps, she was sitting across from someone who held the key.

Juan nodded. “Yes.”

Myrrha’s gaze darkened. There were marks like that in the jungle. Not many, but enough to haunt the elders’ stories. They whispered of ancient ruins, of squisher cities long abandoned. Even Myrrha, with all her boldness, had never dared go too far into the ruins. Not without a reason.

“There are… marks like that,” she said slowly. “In the caves. And near the old ruins.”

Juan’s head snapped up. His eyes gleamed with sudden intensity, his weariness forgotten.

“Marks?”

She nodded, watching him carefully. “No one knows what they mean.”

Excitement bloomed in his expression, unguarded and raw. “Can you take me there?”

Her tail swayed once, thoughtful. “You want to see them?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice firm.

Myrrha narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Juan bit his lip again, searching for the right words. “Because… no one knows what they are. But they meant something once. Maybe they still do.”

The answer made her pause. There was no hunger for power in his voice. No greed. Just curiosity — pure and relentless.

It was a hunger she recognized in herself.

Still, she wasn’t ready to trust him. Not yet.

Her tail flicked. “Even if I showed you, you wouldn’t last a day out there.”

Juan met her gaze steadily. “Then take me.”

Her ears twitched, betraying her surprise. “You wouldn’t survive.”

“Then teach me,” he said softly.

There it was again. That quiet conviction. The same fire she felt whenever she ventured into the unknown.

For a long moment, Myrrha said nothing. She observed him, weighing his words, and the light in his eyes. She’d never trusted easily, and she wouldn’t start now.

But she couldn’t deny the pull of curiosity.

Finally, she stood, brushing off her hands.

“If you slow me down, I’ll leave you behind,” she said.

Juan’s lips curled into a grin. “I won’t slow you down.”

Her tail flicked again, lazy but deliberate.

“We’ll see.”