Swiftcurrent Creek when the moon sang,

Gjalla studied Morwenna in silence, her sharp gaze catching the minute cracks beneath the woman’s composed surface. “Finding my footing,” Gjalla replied, her voice low but steady, meeting Morwenna’s sincerity with a tempered honesty. “The Creek has its challenges, but I’ve known worse.” Her lips tugged upward faintly. Adaptation had never been her weakness.

She’d heard whispers of the boy’s disappearance, but Morwenna’s admission cast it in a stark new light. Gjalla didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she turned her gaze toward the distant treeline Morwenna had glanced at, the weight of the woods pressing softly against her thoughts.

“He is.. lost?” she questioned for confirmation. Gjalla’s steps carried her closer, a flicker of gentleness creeping into her usually guarded demeanor. “Your worry does you credit, but guilt can twist even the purest intentions into burdens. Let the Creek help carry it.” Let me.

“I will keep my ears open,” she offered, her tone steady as if to anchor Morwenna’s fraying resolve. “If there’s a trail to follow, we will find it.” She met Morwenna’s gaze fully, her expression leaving no room for doubt.

A beat of silence passed, the murmur of the creek filling the space between them. Then Gjalla gestured subtly toward the den, regaining her edge. “But first, let’s see to you. You’re no use to the boy—or anyone—if you let yourself fall apart.”