Page 83 of The Moonborn's Curse

Just... lost.

Seren's breath hitched.

Her entire body trembled. The scratches on her knees and palms smarted.

But slowly—so slowly—she extended her hand down from the branch, her fingers outstretched.

"Easy," she whispered, feeling ludicrous. "I won't hurt you."

The bear sniffed.

A deep, rumbling inhale, followed by a long, uncertain exhale.

But he didn't bite.

He sat back down, still watching her, confused and heavy.

Seren fumbled with her satchel and pulled out the sandwich the Oracle had packed that morning.

She unwrapped it, heart thundering, and tossed it gently to the base of the tree.

The grizzly sniffed it, then chomped it down in two bites, lips smacking, head twitching with interest.

He looked at her again.

And this time, there was something softer in his eyes. Not like she was dinner.

After a long pause, he turned and slowly, lumbered back into the undergrowth, disappearing between the trees with only the swaying ferns to mark his passage.

Seren didn't move for a long time. She sat on the branch, arms wrapped around her knees, chest heaving with quiet sobs of leftover fear.

Then—

She leapt down, knees nearly buckling—

And ran all the way back.

Back to the Oracle.

Back to the edges of the tribe.

Back to safety.

But she would not forget those eyes.

Or the sorrow in the voice she felt, more than heard.

Chapter 32

The smell of roasted cumin and simmering tomatoes curled through the oracle's house like a warm scarf. Seren stood at the stone counter, her hands moving with ease as she stirred the bubbling pot. The onions had been caramelized to just the right edge of sweetness, the ginger and garlic finely crushed with the heel of her hand, and the chickpeas now bathed in the thick, spiced gravy that reminded her of her mother's cooking—long before everything had changed.

Her moonlit eyes gleamed in the dim candlelight, her skin glowing with the sheen of heat and adolescence. She moved with the grace of one who had recently grown into her limbs—still startled by how her body no longer mirrored the girl she once was. A folded stack of flatbreads waited to be flipped on the hot pan, and she tossed them deftly, like memories.

The oracle watched her from the long table, silent save for the occasional sip of tea. Her face was thoughtful, but her gaze was soft.

"You cook like someone chasing ghosts," the oracle murmured.

Seren didn't look up. "I remember the smell of this as I held on to my mamma's apron."

---