Golden Glade Born of fire, bound to nothing

She stepped closer, her sharp eyes following Mictec’s gesture to the great tree whose sprawling roots seemed to grip the earth with a quiet power. Aitana’s gaze drifted to the obsidian stone resting among the roots, its dark surface catching the light like a shard of the night sky. It stood out against the emptiness around it.

“You tossed yours?” She paused, a wry grin tugging at her lips. “A little rebellion goes a long way, no?”

Her gaze flicked back to Mictec, curiosity glinting in her amber eyes. “You are keeping your Abuela here, even when the rest of them turned their backs.” She searched Mictec's face, eyes settling against her eyes. “It says a lot, amiga. About her, and about you.”

As she made to sit beneath the great tree, tail swiping at the snow decorating the roots and ground, she heaved a relaxed sigh. “You’re building something here,” she paused, “Something that matters. Not just for her, but for you. Eso es grande. And if it’s worth that much to you, well...”

Her smirk shifted into something warmer. “I'll stick around long as you'll have me. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t bury yourself, eh chica?”