Anxiety crackled in the air, and the little bean felt it keenly. His mother had vanished so suddenly, with barely an explanation. Was something wrong? Was Mama okay? Like his sister, he turned to his father for reassurance and guidance in the uneasy quiet.

The red light spilling through the den’s mouth made his fur prickle. It didn’t feel… natural. He couldn’t quite place why, but something about it set his nerves alight. A soft whimper escaped him as he pressed himself closer to his father while they waited.

When Da surged forward to greet Mama, Faolán tumbled to the ground in a graceless heap. An embarrassed yip slipped out before he scrambled upright, edging toward the den’s entrance. From there, he could see his parents embracing, little Eilidh nestled safely against their mother’s leg.

Faolán wanted to join them, but the trembling in his legs rooted him in place. Then his father spoke the word ritual, and his ears perked. What was a ritual?

Help? he asked softly, eyes full of hope and uncertainty as he looked to his parents for an answer.