Luna marched forward in her new still-sorta-kinda-stumbly form through tangled undergrowth, feet light, and tongue lolling slightly in focus.

  It wasn’t time for prey-sniffing.

  This was spice-hunting!

  So she got to sniffing out whatever she could, just to find the one that would really get her tail wagging. It only took a little bit of time…

  But the scent she could taste on the wind? It was glorious!

  Smoky. Oily. Tangy. With hints of burned meat and reckless hope.

  Very wag!

  Her ears twitched. Her stomach growled in eager confirmation. Her tail wagged at the mere thought of chewing into the heavenly goodies already.

  “Spice,” she breathed.

  The word melted on her tongue.

  She padded faster, dodging root and fern. Sniff-sniff – step. Sniff – pause. Head tilt. Wag?

  It danced over the wind at the promise of spice and meat!

  Just not the swamp-stink kind. Not frog slime or weird-moss or disappointed muddy things. This was human-food smell! Cooked on metal. Roasted into bravery. Chewed by people with taste buds and bags.

  And Luna!

  And those bags meant jerky. Jerky meant success.

  Her thoughts skipped ahead, picturing her glorious two-legged human-Luna self walking up to a whole squad of humans, opening her mouth, and saying: “Hello. Gib spice!”

  Perfect plan!

  Her tail wagged harder, messing with her already testy balance.

  But she prevailed!

  For a heartbeat, her thoughts tugged backward – to old fur, soft snouts, her mother’s breath in the dark.

  Luna didn’t let them take root.

  Not here.

  She shook her head fast, blinked twice, and veered left where the scent thinned. Her legs thumped with purpose. Her nose pulled her forward.

  The thought went into the deep place. The one under food and instinct. That place was full already.

  Besides, she had a new goal now!

  Spiced food. In two-leg form. Without getting sick.

  Luna puffed her chest out as she stepped around a rock and over a log, wobbling slightly but correcting with a smug hop.

  “Perfect plan,” she repeated.

  Even the forest seemed to agree! Leaves rustled in applause. Shadows danced in the faint moonlight…

  Or maybe that was a squirrel falling. She didn’t check.

  The scent trail was real. Not close, but not far off now either.

  She could already taste the promise of those amazing human-made goodies that just made her brain yell again!

  Her nose twitched again, and she squinted through the underbrush.

  A grunt echoed off to the right. Low and bored.

  Luna paused. Turned her head.

  There, half-buried in ferns, a boar snorted lazily, pretending to be important.

  She tilted her head.

  Then kept walking.

  “Not today, piggy. Spice importanter!”

  Her claws bit into the soil with new energy.

  Today, she hunted flavor!

  It wasn’t long after when Luna found them – near a bend in the road.

  A small camp. Low fire. Smoke curling lazy into the inklings of a morning. It sat tucked off the edge of the trail, half-hidden by a fallen tree and a mess of bags and human stuff.

  There were five of them. Four humans and… one weird one.

  She crouched low behind a bush and sniffed.

  The weird one made her nose wrinkle. Similar but different, neither prey, nor human. But just human-enough?

  “Human-not-human?” she whispered. “Weird.”

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  Luna narrowed her eyes at the figure. It had skin, clothes, hair. Moved like prey, but stood like it thought it had bite. Weird. Annoying. But it didn’t matter!

  Spice was spice.

  And she was getting some today!

  Barely thinking this through, she stepped out onto the road boldly.

  Why hide, or crouch?

  She had a plan! She had a form. She was nice now! Very human!

  And nice meant spice would follow.

  Obviously!

  Her tail held steady. Her walk tried very hard not to wobble.

  The adventurers saw her right away. One quickly informing the others.

  Hands twitched toward weapons. But none were drawn.

  One – tall, serious face, with armor smelling of old leather – stepped forward with a caution-sniff in his eyes.

  Then he squinted at her.

  “A… child?”

  Rude!

  Before he could ask anything worse, Luna’s stomach introduced itself.

  Grruuughh.

  “Gib spice,” she declared. “Spiced food. Or meat!”

  She gave them the tail wag. The full eyes-wide, soft-paw, ears-up look. Perfected across dozens of stolen bites and guilt-based snack wins.

  It always worked on mom!

  But all she got were blank stares.

  Then more blank stares.

  One of them coughed.

  The weird-not-human tilted their head in that too-smooth way that made Luna’s fur bristle slightly. They didn’t smell scared. Just… observy.

  The leader’s eyes darted left and right, searching for things. What things? Luna didn’t know. Nor did she care!

  And then he crouched slightly, voice slow.

  “Are you… lost?”

  “Luna is not lost!” she snapped, tail flicking. “Luna is Luna!”

  That paused them for a bit.

  Then the questions started.

  Where was she from? What was she doing alone? Did she need help?

  Too many words. Cautious tones. Glances at the trees. Suspicion leaking out of their boots.

  Luna tuned most of it out.

  Because the spice was here!

  Juuuust here!

  She smelled it under their words. In the pan near the fire. Burned fat, cracked pepper, a touch of something sweet and wild.

  Her mouth watered. Her eyes narrowed toward the campfire. One of them stepped in front of her line of sight and she growled, low.

  Then someone said a magic word.

  “Trade.”

  Her tail wagged once.

  A deal?

  She was good at deals! Great even. The bestest!

  “No gib now?” she asked, tail slowing. “Must do thing? Hunt?”

  They didn’t answer fast enough.

  “Okay!” she barked. “Luna will hunt! Meat for spice!”

  And with that, she turned, sprinted straight into the brush.

  “Wait–!” one of them called, reaching out–

  Too slow.

  Luna was already gone!

  Adventurer POV:

  They stood in stunned silence, too long to be appropriate for veteran adventurers. But could they really be blamed?

  Just after something fast, loud, and confusing barreled through their world?

  The brush still swayed where the girl had vanished.

  “She just… ran off,” the youngest muttered, staring at the gap in the ferns.

  “The kid was fast too. Really fast,” the rogue added, adjusting his scarf.

  Their leader, Sepio, hadn’t moved yet.

  His stance remained alert, weight low, eyes sweeping the treeline. Still half-expecting this to be an ambush. Bandits, beastkin, spell traps – something. Anything.

  But nothing came.

  It really was just trees. And the plain old road. With campfire smoke curling gently into morning light behind them.

  And one missing child.

  “She didn’t sound lost,” the archer offered after a pause.

  Her tone was somewhere between baffled and impressed.

  “But what even was that?”

  The elf finally broke her silence.

  Syliana pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off a future headache.

  “Good grief, Sepio,” she said. “You just made a kid go hunting alone in the woods.”

  “I didn’t make her!” Sepio straightened, bristling. “I– How was I supposed to know she would take it that literally?”

  “She said it. Quite clearly at that.”

  “I thought she was bluffing!”

  Syliana gave him the look. The one she usually reserved for tactical missteps and misfired fireballs.

  Their argument bumped around a few more lines, each more sheepish than the last, before Syliana raised a hand. The glare did the rest.

  Quiet settled back in.

  After a while, she glanced toward the trees again. Her voice came softer and more thoughtful now.

  “At least I believe she’ll be fine.”

  The others looked at her.

  The rogue tilted his head.

  “Why? What did Identify say, Syl?”

  Syliana didn’t answer right away.

  Her gaze lingered on the forest edge. On the broken leaves. The spot where a silver-haired girl with no shoes and too many teeth had vanished without a trace.

  “That,” she said slowly, “was a Wildling.”

  The word hung in the air, its impact slow to show.

  Sepio exhaled.

  “I’ve heard stories,” the archer murmured. “Didn’t think they were real.”

  “Truthfully, not even I expected to ever meet one,” Syliana admitted. “Even with my lifespan.”

  The rogue raised an eyebrow. “Thought Wildlings were supposed to be only half-feral. But the kid spoke like a drunk squirrel!”

  “She was hungry,” Syliana replied. “And excited. And, apparently, on a mission for spice.”

  Sepio groaned softly into his gloves.

  “Spice. We’re going to have to pay her, aren’t we?”

  “You agreed to a deal,” Syl reminded him, with polite murder in her tone. “We should have the goods ready.”

  He grumbled but moved toward the packs.

  Jerky was pulled. The dried meat sealed in wax wrap. They put a few slices of the spiced boar aside. No one argued.

  And they even put the leftover soup over fire, heating it anew.

  Then, once the pile was made, Syliana folded her arms again and stared back into the woods.

  There was no trace left of the Luna kid.

  Only memory. And expectations of her imminent return.

  “She’s a strong pup,” she said, her thoughts churning.

  Living a long life was worth it.

  If only to witness that.

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