Thalira Estom, 17, Human-Hybrid Dryadkin (Wildborn)
Thalira crouched low, her eyes sweeping over the forest floor. Women and children moved with quiet efficiency, plucking berries and fruits from the brambles and low-hanging branches. Yet every time a basket filled even halfway, a man appeared from the shadows, claiming it as his own.
Anger burned hot in her chest, curling around her ribs. If this were my old body, I could've taken them down if I wanted...
"Thalira, focus. Do you not want to eat?" Yesama's calm voice cut through the tension, her hands skillfully sliding smaller berries into a hidden pouch while leaving the larger, obvious ones in the basket.
She's playing a dangerous game with these men... Thalira thought.
A voice drifted from behind, low and predatory. Her ears twitched instinctively.
Thalira turned sharply. A Groveborn man towered above her, broad-shouldered, his shadow stretching like a dark cloak over the underbrush.
Her muscles tensed, and she rose to her full six-foot-seven height, chest thrust forward in defiance. Try me.
Yesama looked up, serene.
"Leave her alone, Olor. She is uninterested in mating with you."
Mating?! Thalira's stomach twisted as she exchanged a confused glance with her aunt and the man.
"You are the only unmated dryad of age in the tribe," Olor said bluntly.
Thalira laughed, sharp and incredulous, planting a hand on her hip. "You've made a sad mistake if you think I'm going to have sex with you."
Gasps rippled among the women nearby. Yesama's hand moved to Thalira's arm, tugging her closer.
"Sex?" Olor repeated, confusion darkening his face.
"Yes. Sex. Mate. Reproduce. If you like, procreate," Thalira said, sliding fruit into her basket with deliberate calm. "I wouldn't do it even if you were the last person on ear-Crescentia."
"Per... uson?" Olor tilted his head, unsure.
Thalira rolled her eyes. "I'm simply not mating with you."
Sunlight filtered through the tall trees, painting dappled patterns across her brown skin. Leaves rustled overhead, the forest whispering softly.
"Don't worry," Olor said with a smirk. "You will beg for me someday."
He strode away, leaving Thalira fuming. She clenched her fists, feeling the tension buzz in her veins.
Then her ears twitched. A faint rustle, a whisper of sound from nearly a mile east.
Without a second thought, she crouched low, moving silently through the underbrush.
The source came into view: a wounded mother deer lying on the damp forest floor, her breath shallow and irregular. A small calf nestled against her side, eyes wide and fearful.
Thalira's pulse slowed, a soft warmth spreading through her chest.
"Yes... that's it," she murmured.
The calf lifted its head cautiously, nostrils flaring.
"Hey there, little guy," she whispered, extending her hands slowly.
Yesama moved forward, ready to intervene, but another woman placed a hand on her arm. "Wait."
Thalira's palms radiated calm, a gentle heat that seemed to seep into the earth and air. The trembling calf shuffled forward, pressing its soft head against her chest.
The surrounding women murmured in awe. Centuries had passed since a Wildborn had bonded with an animal.
Not only do I get a future food supply... but a few meals in the meantime, Thalira thought, a smirk tugging at her lips.
She scanned the forest floor, noting a shallow cave nearby. Leading the group, she guided them toward it.
Cloud hovered at her shoulder, tiny glasses gleaming. "What?" he asked.
Can I store this inside your magical whatever?
"Gross! I am not storing raw meat in my fur," Cloud huffed. His arms crossed, tiny and fluffy.
"But I can transform your hidden pouch into an infinite, timeless satchel," he said proudly.
Perfect...
"On one condition," Cloud added, floating above her head like a miniature herald.
Thalira raised a brow. "And what condition is that?"
"That deer calf acknowledges me as its superior," Cloud declared dramatically.
Thalira stared. Really? That's your condition?
"You don't understand, Yvonne—or Thalira or whatever," Cloud said, voice heavy with theatrics. "Systems have hierarchy." He pointed toward the sleeping calf. "This is a system."
Thalira sighed. Fine. "We have a deal."
With a tap, the pouch expanded. Darkness swallowed the interior, infinite and empty until she imagined an object.
A knife appeared in her hand. She blinked, then thought harder. A small cooler filled with ice materialized. Modern problems require modern solutions, she muttered.
She cut the meat carefully, sealing it in plastic bags before sliding them into the satchel. A small portion remained, wrapped in a dirty cloth. She lifted the calf and moved toward the cave entrance—only to run straight into Olor.
Of course.
"Ah, ah, ah," he said, hands on his hips. Another male, Falis, joined him. "Leave the meat here with us."
Thalira forced a smile. "Of course. Have it your way, Olor." She let go of the cloth. Pushing past Falis, he stumbled slightly.
Though frail by Wildborn standards, her body had been augmented subtly by Lior—enough to give her a small edge over the undernourished men. Strength flowed through her muscles as they reconnected with the earth beneath her feet.
She returned to the women. Seeing no meat in her hands, panic flashed across their faces. Four women and Yesama checked her quickly for injuries, hands brushing over her arms and shoulders.
Yesama caught her face gently. "Aunt, I'm fine," Thalira said softly, patting her hand in reassurance.
The women gathered their baskets, silent admiration in their eyes, children staring in amazement. The calf rested peacefully in the woven carrier she had made.
They returned to the settlement, the men feasting on stolen baskets. Only scraps remained.
Thalira turned to the women. "Is this normal?"
They nodded, exhausted but steady. One woman, Amisna, stepped forward. She carried an infant strapped to her chest. Antlers sprouted from her head, though one was broken long ago, jagged at the base. Her dark-hoofed legs were sturdy, muscles tense under soft fur.
"After this," she said softly, "they disappear for the rest of the day."
Thalira glanced at the sun, now dipping toward mid-afternoon.
"How many belongings do all of you have combined?" she asked.
"Not much," Yesama answered.
Without hesitation, Thalira commanded, "Pack everything."
The women exchanged glances but obeyed silently. They had seen her bond with an animal—something no Wildborn had accomplished in centuries.
Quietly, they gathered their meager possessions. Thalira led the group deeper into the forest.
I will not allow these women and children to live like this. Not anymore. She set her jaw, determination blazing. We will build something new. A place where fear no longer rules them. Even if the men come for us.