The red wolf’s ears remained fixed upon the scout, amber eyes following every motion as though afraid to miss some invisible thread weaving the lesson together. Her gaze drifted from the prints in the dirt, to the canopy overhead, then back to the earth beneath her paws. Tracks. Wind. Birds. Clouds. The land itself. It was a lot, she’d admit to herself. Silence settled for a heartbeat as Kiva looked around again, but this time the forest felt different. Less like a collection of trees and more like something alive. Something speaking in a language she’d never realized existed.

“I think,” she began slowly, brow knitting together, “I’ve been treating the forest like a map.” Her nose wrinkled.

“I keep looking for places. Big rocks. Funny-shaped trees. Things I can point at and say, ‘I’ve been here before.’” A sheepish grin tugged at one corner of her maw.

“And meanwhile you’ve been reading an entire book.” The comparison lingered in her mind, earning a quiet huff of amusement from herself. Kiva lowered her muzzle, finally giving the ground the attention it deserved. She noticed the staggered line of Serrune’s pawprints. Her own, crossing over them. Tiny impressions where a squirrel had darted across softer earth. Things she would’ve walked straight past only moments ago.

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually looked before.” Not like this. A bird called somewhere high overhead. Instinctively, Kiva’s ears flicked toward it.

“So,” she glanced sideways at Serrune, an eager curiosity softening her expression, “how do you tell which things matter?” Her tail gave an absent wag behind her.

“Because if I stop every time I see a pawprint or hear a bird, I’ll still be standing here tomorrow.”

A beat passed before another grin surfaced. “Though I suppose I’d know this oak tree really well.”