The very next morning, Kaya decided it was ti to leave the ocean. Ti was running out, and more than anything, she needed to find a place to live—a place to call her own.
There was no grand farewell, no dramatic scene like the ones in stories or movies where everyone gathers to wave goodbye.
No one ca.
The ocean remained as it always was—calm, composed, quietly majestic. As if it held no tribe beneath its glassy surface. As if she had never been a part of it.
With one last look, Kaya turned and began her walk back toward the cave she had once erged from. It had taken her six days to reach the ocean when she first ca.
This ti, the journey dragged longer—eight, maybe nine days. Her steps were slower, heavier. She was carrying more now—physically, emotionally. Everything seed to weigh differently.
But perhaps the strangest part of it all was the sparrow.
He hadn’t spoken. Not a word. Not even his usual little chirps or cheeky remarks. He simply perched quietly on her shoulder or followed her from a distance, his wings rarely flapping, his eyes distant. Silent. Completely unlike himself.
.
.
Another day went by...
Even after all the hardship they went through to finally reach the cave, that damn bird still hadn’t said a word.
Kaya didn’t know why exactly, but it was starting to get on her nerves. The silence wasn’t comforting anymore—it was just strange. And irritating.
She glanced at him. He was sitting there on a rock like a statue, feathers tucked in, eyes distant, completely detached from the world around him.
Kaya kept staring, waiting for sothing. Anything. But nope.
So she got up. Walked straight to him.
And then—BAM.
A slab ca crashing down beside him. Not on him—technically. But close enough that the stone trembled and dust flew up.
The bird? Shot straight up into the air, wings flaring and feathers ruffled, the inscription from the slab flapping like a leaf in the wind.
Kaya stood there with her hand still raised mid-air, eyebrow twitching slightly.
So you’re not sick, she thought, narrowing her eyes. You can move just fine. React faster than lightning, even.
Then what the hell is your problem?
The sparrow hovered above Kaya, his wings barely making a sound. His eyes were still—quiet and unreadable.
Seeing that look, Kaya fell silent too.
She didn’t ask anything. Didn’t push him. She just turned around.
Because she knew that gaze.
She had seen it before.
It was the look of soone who had guarded sothing with their life, only to have it snatched away. A kind of disappointnt that didn’t scream or cry—it just... settled. Deep. Heavy. Wordless.
A few seconds passed.
Then, softly, the sparrow opened his beak.
"Chrripp?"
(How?)
His eyes searched her face with sothing almost close to confusion—sothing raw. He didn’t understand. He truly didn’t.
How?
How could soone like her, who clearly wasn’t from here—who didn’t even know how to tell a beastman from a common beast—how could she walk through danger so easily? How could she just... decide things like that? With no fear. No hesitation.
Here he was, a fugitive, hiding for days. Living as a bird, too afraid to take his true form. Afraid that Kaya would see what he really was—a beastman—and leave him behind once she realized the truth. Once she knew the danger that followed him.
He had spent years running. Just because he knew about one small salt spring—its supply limited, but valuable enough for the Vulture Tribe to kill over it. He didn’t even know how many other tribes were after him now, how many were ready to rip him apart for what he carried in his mory.
And then there was Kaya.
So bold. So careless. So unaware.
Jumping into danger like it ant nothing. Like she was already too far gone to care.
And yet... sohow, she saw through things no one else did. Even without knowing, she knew.
That’s what scared him the most.
.
.
.
As evening fell, the sky turned a warm orange, painting everything in soft gold. From where Kaya stood, she could see the open sky stretch endlessly above them. It was beautiful—calm, quiet. A sharp contrast to the chaos around her.
She was still sorting and packing supplies, trying to make sense of the ss. More than five baskets were already lined up, and that was the problem.
Five baskets.
Three people.
Three shoulders.
She sighed. There was no way they could carry five baskets—at least not without one of them snapping in half. She needed to reduce it to three, but if she did that, the baskets would be too heavy. Again, a problem.
Her eyes drifted toward the sparrow.
"If he were a beastman, then maybe..." she muttered to herself.
Honestly, if that tiny sparrow was just slightly more useful—just a little stronger—she might’ve dared to let him carry a basket. But imagining that small, hand-sized bird trying to lift sothing ten tis his size?
Forget it.
Actually, it wasn’t even a hundred tis his size. Maybe ten. Still impossible.
As she tried to tie one of the baskets shut, the twine snapped, and that was it. Her patience reached its limit. Frustration boiled over.
She slamd the basket to the ground, hard enough to kick up dust, and whipped her head around—her eyes zeroing in on the sparrow perched at the top of the tallest tree, wearing the sa miserable expression he had been carrying for days.
Like his world had just ended.
Without thinking, she marched toward the tree, looked up, and shouted:
"You! If you’re going to keep making that damn face, then get lost from here!"
Her voice echoed into the open air. Sharp. Final.
Then, more pointedly, she barked,
"Get down. Right now."
The leaves rustled lightly in the wind, but there was no response from the sparrow.
He just sat there. Still. Silent. Like a carved figure on the branch.
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