The morning sun filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled light across the Tree tribe's central grounds. Ava stood in her stone house, carefully wrapping a roasted bubu bird in broad leaves, the savory aroma mingling with the tangy scent of her hot pepper sauce. Her hands moved with purpose, but her mind was a whirlwind of uncertainty. She'd decided to visit Amon to thank him for saving her from the small snake two days ago, his strong arms hauling her out before the jagged stones could do worse than a sprained ankle and a shallow cut. The memory of his steady grip lingered, unbidden, in her thoughts.
"Ava, you sure about this?" George's voice rumbled from behind, his jaguar ears twitching with unease. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his amber eyes narrowing. "Amon's a good male, but you don't owe him anything."
Kael, coiling his serpentine tail nearby, hissed softly. "He's too eager to be around you. I don't like it." His dark eyes glinted, possessive and wary. "Let us thank him instead."
Ava's cheeks warmed, but she squared her shoulders. They're just protective, she thought, but Amon saved me. It's only right to thank him properly. "I'm going," she said firmly, clutching the wrapped food. "It's just a gesture. I won't be long." Her tone brooked no argument, though her heart fluttered with a mix of defiance and something she couldn't name—curiosity, perhaps, about the quiet wolf beastman who'd risked himself for her.
The path to Amon's dwelling wound through the village, past curious orcs and bustling females. Ava's limp had mostly faded, but each step reminded her of Amon's quick reaction, his calloused hand steadying her as she stumbled from the pit. Why does that moment keep replaying? she wondered, her grip tightening on the bundle. He's just a friend. A kind one. That's all. Yet, her pulse quickened as she approached his tree hut, its entrance draped with woven vines.
Amon was outside, sharpening a spear with a flint blade, his broad shoulders hunched in focus. His dark hair fell over his eyes, and the faint scars on his arms gleamed in the sunlight, a testament to his life as a hunter. He looked up as Ava approached, his gray eyes widening slightly before softening into a shy smile. "Ava," he said, setting the spear aside. "You're… here."
Ava's throat tightened, her rehearsed words evaporating. "I, um, brought you something," she stammered, thrusting the bundle forward a bit too quickly. The leaves crinkled, and a drop of sauce splattered onto her hand. She winced, heat creeping up her neck. Great start, Ava.
Amon stood, stepping closer—closer than necessary, she noticed, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. "For me?" he asked, his voice low, almost disbelieving. His fingers brushed hers as he took the bundle, and a spark of warmth shot through Ava's arm. She pulled her hand back, wiping it on her hide skirt, her heart stuttering. Why am I so jumpy? It's just Amon.
"It's a roasted bubu bird," she said, forcing a smile. "With sauce. To… to thank you. For the snake. You know, saving me." Her words tumbled out, and she cursed inwardly at how awkward she sounded.
Amon's cheeks flushed, a rare sight that made him look younger, less like the reserved and quiet hunter she knew. "You didn't have to," he mumbled, his eyes dropping to the bundle. He unwrapped it carefully, as if it were a precious relic, and the aroma wafted between them. "Smells amazing," he said, glancing at her, his gaze lingering a moment too long. Ava's breath caught, and she looked away, pretending to study a nearby tree.
He's just being polite, she told herself, but her mind replayed his steady grip, the way he'd held her gaze in the cave, his voice soft but firm: "Be careful." She shook her head, trying to dispel the thought. I have Kael and George. I don't need… whatever this is.
Amon cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Want to share it?" he offered, gesturing to a flat stone nearby. "I mean, you made it. It seems wrong to eat it alone."
Ava hesitated, glancing back toward the village. Kael and George would be furious if she stayed too long, but the idea of leaving now felt… wrong. "Sure," she said, her voice softer than intended. She sat across from him, their knees almost touching as he sliced the bird with his flint knife. His movements were precise, but his hands trembled slightly, betraying his calm exterior.
Why did I save her? Amon thought, stealing a glance at Ava as she nibbled a piece of meat. Because it was right. Because she's… different. He'd always admired her ingenuity, her courage in the beast world where females were usually satisfied with their given roles. But when he'd seen her fall into that trap, his heart had stopped, a primal urge to protect her overriding everything else. Now, sitting so close, her scent—earthy and faintly sweet—made his chest tighten. She's Kael's and George's mate, he reminded himself. But why does she look at me like that?
"You're good at this," Amon said suddenly, nodding at the food. "The sauce… It's new. Everyone's talking about it." His attempt at conversation felt clumsy, and he cringed inwardly.
Ava laughed, a light sound that eased the tension. "Thanks. I just… experiment. You know, trying to mix it up a bit
But she couldn't help the way her fingers brushed against his when she handed him a piece of meat, or how his shy smile made her stomach flutter. Stop it, Ava, she scolded herself. You're just grateful. That's all.
As they ate, Oma and Lily approached, baskets of herbs in hand. Oma's eyes sparkled with mischief as she nudged Lily. "Look at that," she whispered. "Ava's got Amon blushing like a cub. Never seen him so soft."
Lily giggled, keeping her voice low. "He's smitten. Bet he'd carve her a whole forest of bamboo if she asked."
Ava caught their whispers and felt her face heat up. She focused on her food, avoiding Amon's gaze, but the air between them buzzed with unspoken possibilities. Amon, too, seemed hyper-aware of her presence, his movements careful, as if afraid to break the fragile moment. Neither spoke of it, but the shared glances, the accidental touches, planted a seed of something neither was ready to name—a spark that promised to smolder, waiting for the right moment to ignite.
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As the sun dipped lower, painting the Tree tribe's central grounds in hues of amber and crimson, the communal fire crackled, its warmth drawing the tribe together. Females bustled around woven baskets, sorting vibrant melons and tangy citrus, while males sharpened spears and traded stories of the day's hunt. The air hummed with the rhythm of tribal life, but Ava felt the weight of eyes on her—some curious, others guarded. Her innovations, from fire-making to new cooking methods, had sparked change, but change, she was learning, came with whispers.
Near the fire, Lily and Oma stood with a cluster of females, their voices animated. Lily held up a handful of delicate pink flowers, their petals shimmering in the firelight. "Ava says lemons can clean wounds," she said, her eyes bright with excitement. "You squeeze out the lemon juice, and it prevents infection. She said so today before the snake incident."
Oma nodded, her braided hair swaying. "She's always thinking, that one. Remember how she taught us to cook fish? This is the same. Ava's ideas work." Her voice carried pride, but also a challenge, daring the others to doubt.
A young female, Sira, leaned forward, intrigued. "Really? My cub's cut from last week still festers. Could this help?" Her tone was hopeful, her fingers reaching for a lemon.
But Mara, one of Emily's allies, crossed her arms, her lips pursed. "fruits for wounds? Sounds like outsider nonsense. We've always used mud and herbs. Why change now?" Her eyes flicked toward Ava, who sat nearby, sharpening a stick for roasting. The skepticism in Mara's gaze was sharp, like a blade.
Odette, the older female with gnarled hands, snorted softly. "The Beast God gave us ways that have worked for generations. Ava's clever, but she's no shaman." Yet, her tone wavered, curiosity betraying her doubt. She glanced at Ava, her weathered face unreadable.
Lily's cheeks puffed out, indignant. "Ava's not replacing the shaman. She's helping! You'll see when your cuts heal faster." Her defense was fierce, and Oma smirked, nudging her. "Tell them how Amon trusts her ideas, too. He was all for it after she explained."
The mention of Amon drew a few giggles from the younger females. "Oh, Amon's smitten," Sira teased, her eyes darting to where Amon stood, helping a young male repair a spear. "He's always watching her, isn't he?"
Ava, catching the tail end of their conversation, felt her face heat. She focused on her stick, her fingers trembling slightly. They're talking about Amon again, she thought, her mind spiraling. Why does everyone keep saying that? She stole a glance at him, his broad shoulders hunched in focus, his dark hair falling over his eyes. The memory of his hands on her waist, steady and warm, flooded back, unbidden. He saved me. Risked a snake bite for me. Why? Her heart fluttered, a mix of gratitude and something she couldn't name. I have Kael and George. They're my mates. But Amon… he's different. Quiet, but always there. She shook her head, frustrated. I'm just grateful, that's all. It doesn't mean anything. Yet, the way her pulse quickened when he looked at her suggested otherwise.
Ava, determined to shift her focus, thought about the tribe's mixed reactions that weighed on her. I'm trying to help, but some see me as a threat, she thought. I'm still an outsider, no matter what I do. Her ankle ached faintly, a reminder of the incident, and she wondered if Mara's sharp words hid a connection to Emily's schemes. I need to be careful.
Sira spotted her and waved her over, her smile warm. "Ava, tell us more about these flowers and lemon. Can they really heal cuts? And the flowers, do they make us smell good?" Her enthusiasm was a balm to Ava's nerves, and she nodded, grateful for an ally.