Firefly Glen Hushatahli

Mojag crept along through the shadows.

He was very slow, even for his age and smaller size, because every sound made him pause mid-step; the creaking of the trees was strange enough on its own, but there was the occasional sound of the wind rushing through the ferns and making them almost whisper, and when the wind died it was eerie silence with the faintest of bird-calls he did not recognize.

As he was rounding his way between two goliath trees, he found himself confronted by an ascension of dry soil with spidering roots at the top, large enough for an adult to scale with some effort, but otherwise impossible for the likes of him at this time.

He tried, though — he gave a mad dash and clawed at the dirt, trying to reach that one root at the top with his baby teeth, only to fail. After trying a second time with even less success, he slid on his belly back down to the fernbed and rested there a moment.

That was when a dark shape materialized in his periphery. The stranger's voice was sweet and soft, but unexpected, and the boy visibly trembled as he turned to stare. They spoke of moonwoman a lot.

I am Mojag! He proclaimed. I'ma hunter an' I am hunting for my tataa! As he had never met anyone outside of the village, or any adult that meant him harm, Mojag was unafraid of this total stranger; maybe she was hunting too.