Something hissed past Azaliyah’s cheek.
An arrow buried itself in the tree beside her.
A second struck the ground between Camron’s boots.
A third pinned Misha’s sleeve to a branch.
The elder looked at it, unimpressed.
“See?” she said. “Polite.”
Camron glanced down at the arrow between his boots. “I miss when greetings were verbal.”
Azaliyah yanked the shaft from the tree beside her and inspected the black-fletched feathers. “I miss when strangers feared me on sight.”
“They may yet.”
“Keep hoping.”
Misha tore her pinned sleeve free with one sharp pull and handed the arrow back to the forest like it had offended her personally. “Do not fire back,” she said. “Do not chase shadows. And if anyone asks who you are, let her answer first.”
Azaliyah arched a brow. “Why me?”
“Because if
