Long before she spoke in full sentences, Nyra was known to the forest.
The animals learned her scent. The roots shifted under her bare feet to soften her steps. Birds followed her as though she carried the memory of flight. She wandered beyond the walls of the stronghold with such certainty that it took Keal weeks to understand she was never lost.
At first, Ava followed. She would watch from the shadows as her daughter knelt to trace her fingers along the belly of a wounded fox, or sat beneath trees whispering to ravens who answered back. Ava had been trained to spot traps, to read terrain, to anticipate ambush. But what she saw in her daughter wasn’t stealth. It was invitation.
Nyra belonged to the quiet places.
On her second birthday, she refused all gifts. Instead, she dragged a lon
