The sun was warm on Nyara's damp fur as she padded beside Hava, the sound of the stream fading behind them. The scents of wet earth and crushed rivergrass clung to them both, mingling with the faint sweetness of soapleaf. Nyara's tail swayed slowly, more from the comfort of being clean than from ease — her ears still flicked toward every crackle in the underbrush.
"You're quieter than the river," Hava said lightly, stepping over a fallen branch. The elder female's spotted ears tilted toward Nyara in quiet amusement.
Nyara shrugged. "It's... a lot of new."
Hava's smile softened, deep lines at the corners of her eyes catching the light. "It will feel smaller in time. I remember when I was your age. Everything smelled like strangers and felt like sharp edges."
They broke through the treeline, the caravan's camp coming into view — wagons in a half-circle, smoke curling lazily from cookfires, the air rich with the scent of roasting meat and the mingled musk of many tribes. A few heads turned their way, watching with interest; two females returning together was a sight worth noting.
Two males approached from the camp's edge. One was tall and broad-shouldered, his fur patterned in jagged stripes that shifted with his steps. The other was leaner, with sleek black-tipped ears and a confident, measured gait. Both slowed as they neared, keeping a respectful distance but letting their gazes warm.
Hava's tail lifted in greeting. "Nyara, these are my mates — Taren and Vos."
The striped one, Taren, inclined his head. "Safe steps, little one." His voice was deep, steady.
Vos's eyes softened as they rested on Nyara. "You're in good paws now. Hava keeps those she cares for close — and safe."
Hava's mouth curved in a small, knowing smile before she stepped closer to her mates. Taren's hand brushed against her arm in a familiar touch, and Vos leaned in to nuzzle her cheek, a low rumble of affection passing between them. Nyara found herself watching the quiet ease of it — how natural the connection felt.
"They won't bite," Hava said, glancing back to Nyara, though her tone carried more warmth than teasing now. "Come on. The fire's still hot — we'll get you something before the others finish it."
Nyara followed, glancing once toward the forest. A bird called in the distance, its cry sharp against the steady hum of the camp. She wasn't sure if it was a comfort... or a warning.