Neteyam, the eldest, held up a hand, his ears swiveling. His yellow eyes scanned the shifting shadows of the massive, glowing roots and hanging vines. His expression was tight, a mask of controlled panic over the fear churning in his gut. They were already too far from High Camp. Losing Tuk here…

His call was met with silence. Then, a sound. Faint, and high. Not a cry. A… giggle.

They moved as one, following the sound. It grew clearer, mingled with another, softer laugh. They pushed past a final curtain of luminous moss into a small, sun-dappled clearing.

Neteyam stopped dead, his breath catching. Lo'ak and Kiri froze beside him, staring at the stranger who had their little sister, safe and utterly happy.