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Sundew’s claws dug into the damp earth beside the pond, the water so still it reflected her scowl perfectly. The surface didn’t ripple, didn’t dare- as if even the pond knew better than to disturb her today. It was the same spot where Willow used to leave little woven grass frogs for her, back when they were dragonets and the world was simpler. Back when Sundew could pretend the Poison Jungle was enough for both of them.
The jungle hummed around her, alive with the buzz of venomous beetles and the rustle of leaves that could cut you if you brushed against them wrong. It was safe here. Predictable. Everything had teeth, and nothing pretended otherwise. But Willow had always been different- willowy- bright-eyed, the kind of dragon who’d pause to watch sunlight filter through the canopy instead of scanning for threats. Sundew could still hear her voice, frayed at the edges with hurt: *"You don’t get to tell me where I belong."*
A beetle scuttled over her foot, its iridescent shell glinting. Sundew flicked it away absently. She should’ve been glad Willow was gone. Less distraction. Fewer arguments about "forgiveness" and "moving on," as if those words meant anything when the HiveWings’ shadows still stretched across their history. But the jungle felt too quiet now, like someone had stolen half its heartbeat.
Across the pond, a cluster of mushrooms had sprouted where Willow used to sit. Sundew resisted the urge to set them on fire with some flame-silk. Instead, she reached into the pouch over her chest, her claws brushing the cool curve of the jade frog. It was stupid. Sentimental. A weakness. But she’d carried it since the night Willow left, and now it felt like the only thing anchoring her to the ground.
The mushrooms weren’t the only things that had grown where Willow used to sit. The vines had thickened too, strangling the trunk of the old bloodwood tree behind them—Sundew had watched it happen over the months, the way the jungle reclaimed every space Willow had once occupied. Like it was erasing her. Like she’d never crouched there, laughing as she tucked another grass frog into Sundew’s talons when she wasn’t looking.
Sundew’s tail twitched. She could still see it, Willow’s face that last night, the way her pupils had shrunk to pinpricks in the globe-light. *"You don’t own me,"* she’d hissed, and Sundew had wanted to scream that it wasn’t about ownership, it was about *safety*. The HiveWings had spent generations bleeding the LeafWings dry; what kind of idiot waltzed back into their talons just because the war was over? But Willow had always been like that, sunlight stubborn, impossible to contain. She’d spread her wings and left, and Sundew had let her.
A dragonfly skimmed the pond’s surface, its wings casting a fleeting shadow. Sundew flicked a pebble at it, missing on purpose. The ripples distorted her reflection, warping her scowl into something almost sad. Pathetic. She dug her claws deeper into the mud.
Behind her, the jungle exhaled, a rustle of leaves, the creak of branches. Sundew didn’t turn. She knew that sound. The Old-BeetleWings had a name for it: *trotline tension*, that moment before a snare snapped shut. Something was watching her.
Sundew’s reflection in the pond didn’t blink back at her. It was a stranger’s face, all jagged edges and clenched jaws, the kind of dragon who’d sooner bite than talk. The water remembered Willow better: the way she’d trail her claws through it, sending ripples toward Sundew like a question. *Come here. Look at this. Isn’t it strange?* Sundew had always pretended not to care, but she’d memorized the shape of Willow’s laughter bouncing off the water, the way her voice curled around syllables like vines around a tree. Now the pond was just water. Just silence.
A leaf detached itself from the canopy overhead, spinning lazily before it kissed the pond’s surface. Sundew watched it float, adrift. That’s what Willow had chosen; to drift. To leave the Poison Jungle’s tangled safety for the Hives’ gleaming order. *"They’re not all monsters,"* she’d said that last night, her voice fraying. *"And we’re not all victims."* Sundew had wanted to shake her. The HiveWings had spent generations carving scars into the LeafWings’ history; what kind of dragon looked at those scars and decided to *trust*? But Willow had always been like that… Stubborn as sunrise, convinced there was good in everything. Even the Hives. Even Sundew.
The mud under Sundew’s claws was cool, yielding. She could still see the divots where Willow used to press her talons into the earth when she laughed too hard, her wings flaring like startled leaves. Now mushrooms grew there, pale and insistent. Sundew’s chest ached. She hated mushrooms. Hated how they appeared overnight, uninvited, like they had every right to take up space. Like Willow hadn’t been there first.
A twig snapped behind her. Sundew’s wings twitched, but she didn’t turn. The jungle didn’t scare her, she knew its threats by heart. The real danger was the emptiness where Willow used to be. That was the thing no one warned you about: how absence could be louder than presence. How the space between branches could feel like a missing limb.
Sundew’s claws flexed in the mud, leaving crescent moons where Willow’s laughter used to settle. The pond hadn’t changed, same murky shallows, same lily pads that curled like fists at dusk, but the air smelled wrong without Willow’s scent tangled in it: crushed mint and damp bark, something sweet underneath. Sundew’s tail lashed. She could still see the argument etched into the trees around them, the way Willow’s voice had cracked like splitting wood. *"You’re suffocating me."* As if the jungle’s thorns were Sundew’s fault. As if staying meant surrender.
A dragonfly darted too close. Sundew snapped at it, teeth clicking empty air.
Sundew sighed and threw a pebble into the pond. It sank with a dull *plunk*, the sound swallowed by the croaking of frogs hidden in the reeds. Behind her, leaves crunched—but slowly, deliberately, like someone was picking their way through the undergrowth on tiptoe. Sundew didn’t need to turn around. Only one dragon walked like that, placing each foot as if the ground might bite her.
“Go away, Cricket,” Sundew muttered, flicking another pebble. This one skipped twice before vanishing.
The footsteps stopped. Silence stretched, thick as the jungle humidity. Sundew could practically *hear* Cricket’s brain whirring, that infuriating HiveWing habit of turning every interaction into a puzzle to solve. She braced for the inevitable avalanche of questions- *Are you okay? What’s wrong? Do you want to talk about it?*, but Cricket just stood there, a warm presence at Sundew’s back, her breath steady as a metronome.
Another beetle scuttled over Sundew’s claw. She crushed it absently, the crunch louder than she’d intended. Still, Cricket didn’t speak. Sundew’s tail twitched. It was worse than the questions.
Sundew exhaled through her nostrils, watching the pebble sink into the murk where Willow’s reflection used to ripple. The frogs’ croaking swelled around her- a chorus of *go away, go away*- but Cricket’s footsteps stayed stubbornly rooted in place behind her. Sundew could map the HiveWing’s approach by the careful pauses between steps: the hesitant crunch of leaves, the way Cricket’s talons always lifted mid-stride to avoid crushing a fern or an unbloomed fire-orchid. ’As if the jungle gave a damn about courtesy’.
The silence stretched. Sundew’s claws flexed. "If you’re here to lecture me about *processing emotions*," she muttered, "save it. Your weird Hive psychology books don’t work on me."
Cricket’s spectacles glinted in her periphery as she tilted her head. "Actually," she said, in that maddeningly measured tone, "I was going to ask if you’d seen any *Dendrobates auratus* around this pond. Blue-and-black speckles? About the size of a beetle?" She held up her claws, pinching the air to demonstrate. "They secrete a toxin that—"
"*No,*" Sundew snapped, tail lashing. "No frogs, no toxins, no *science.*" She glared at the pond, where her distorted reflection scowled back. "Don’t you have a library to haunt?"
The pebble hit the water with a dull *plop*, sinking faster than Sundew’s patience. Frogs croaked in the reeds, a grating, rhythmic *go-away, go-away*;but Cricket’s silence was worse. Sundew could feel it pressing against her spine, a living thing, insistent as vines growing through cracks in stone. She ground her teeth. Of all the dragons to stumble into her sulking spot, why did it have to be the one who treated silence like a scientific specimen, poking at it until it split open and spilled its secrets?
Another beetle scuttled over her claw. Sundew flicked it away harder than necessary, sending it tumbling into the pond. The ripples distorted her reflection, warping her scowl into something almost uncertain. Pathetic. She dug her claws deeper into the mud.
Behind her, Cricket shifted her weight- a subtle rustle of scales, the creak of her spectacles sliding down her snout. Sundew braced for the inevitable interrogation. But Cricket just… stood there. Breathing. As if she’d decided to conduct an ethnographic study on *grumpy LeafWings in their natural habitat*. Sundew’s tail twitched. She could practically hear the gears turning in that oversized HiveWing brain, each second stretching thinner than spider silk.
Then… *Finally* Cricket spoke. Not with one of her trademark fact-bombs, but with a single word, soft as a falling leaf: "Mushrooms."
The pebble sank with a soft *plunk*, swallowed by the pond’s murky depths. Sundew didn’t need to turn around to know Cricket was still there, she could feel the HiveWing’s presence like sunlight on her scales, warm and unrelenting. The frogs had stopped croaking, as if even they were holding their breath to see who’d crack first. Sundew’s tail twitched. She hated waiting. Hated the way Cricket could stand there, quiet as a shadow, until the silence itself became a question.
A dragonfly skimmed the water’s surface, its wings casting a fleeting shadow. Sundew aimed another pebble at it, missing deliberately. The ripples warped her reflection into something unfamiliar- a dragon with Willow’s wounded eyes and her own clenched jaw. She growled under her breath.
Behind her, Cricket shifted, her claws rustling through the undergrowth with the precision of a dragon who’d spent too much time cataloging every leaf and beetle. Sundew’s ear twitched at the sound. Of course Cricket wouldn’t just *leave*. Not when there were unsolved mysteries lurking in the Poison Jungle…. like why Sundew was sitting alone at Willow’s pond, or why the mushrooms growing there made her chest ache like a rotten tooth.
The silence stretched, thick as the humidity clinging to Sundew’s scales.
The words landed between them like a dropped scroll- unfurling slowly, ink still wet. Sundew stiffened, her claws digging crescent moons into the mud. *I was sad too.* As if sadness was something they could measure and compare. As if Cricket had any right to miss Willow when she barely knew her. Sundew’s tail lashed, scattering droplets across the pond’s surface. "You didn’t even *like* her," she muttered, aiming the words at the water instead of Cricket. "You called her ‘biologically improbable’ when she hugged you."
Cricket’s spectacles slid down her snout as she tilted her head, that infuriating *I’m-taking-notes* tilt. "Actually, I said her *lung capacity* was biologically improbable. There’s a difference." She nudged a pebble with her claw, sending it rolling toward the pond. It stopped just short of the water, wobbling on the brink. "And I *did* like her. She let me borrow her old BeetleWing scrolls."
Sundew snorted. Typical Cricket, reducing dragons to data points. Willow’s laughter, her habit of tucking flowers behind Sundew’s ears when she thought no one was looking, the way her voice softened when she said *Sundew, just breathe*, none of that fit neatly into Cricket’s spreadsheets. "She left because of *us*," Sundew spat. "Because HiveWings couldn’t stop playing conqueror long enough to… "
She bit the words off. The pond absorbed them anyway, the silence afterward thicker than the jungle’s humidity. Cricket’s wings rustled; not the angry snap Sundew expected, but a slow unfurling, like she was steeling herself to weather a storm. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, the way she sounded when reading aloud from fragile scrolls. "I know what we did. I *know*." A pause. The pebble teetered. "But I miss the way she’d hum when she wove those grass frogs. It made the library smell less like mildew."
Sundew remembered Cricket had Blue to lean on. "Yeah, but least you have Blue," she spat out at Cricket, the words sharp as thorns. "I'll probably die alone."
The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them; not because they weren't true, but because Cricket's face did something complicated, like a scroll crumpling in slow motion. Her spectacles slipped further down her snout, and for once, she didn’t push them back up.
"Blue’s not…" Cricket started, then stopped, her claws curling into the damp earth. Sundew watched her throat work around the words she couldn’t say—*not a consolation prize, not a replacement, not enough*. It was infuriating. Cricket always had the right words for everything, except when it mattered.
The jungle exhaled around them, leaves whispering secrets Sundew didn’t want to hear. A beetle scuttled between them, its iridescent shell catching the light, and for a stupid, fleeting second, Sundew wished she could trade places with it.. something small, something simple, something that didn’t have to feel the weight of absences like missing limbs.
Cricket’s voice, when it came, was quieter than Sundew had ever heard it. "You won’t die alone." Not *I won’t let you*; too presumptuous, even for Cricket- just a fact, stated plainly, like the sky was blue or venom killed. As if she’d run the numbers and found the conclusion inevitable.
Sundew scoffed, but it lacked its usual bite. "You don’t know that." She flicked another pebble into the pond. This one skipped twice before sinking, its ripples blending with the ones from the first. "Nobody *plans* to die alone. It just… happens."
Cricket tilted her head, her spectacles glinting. "Statistically unlikely."
"Oh, *shut up*—"
"I like you," Cricket blurted out.
The words hit the air like a dropped beaker; sharp, sudden, impossible to take back. Sundew's head snapped around so fast her neck scales creaked. "What."
Cricket's spectacles slid down her snout. She didn't push them back up. "I-I mean. As a friend. Obviously." Her claws dug into the mud, carving nervous little trenches. "A platonic friend. A-a colleague. A—"
"*Stop talking,*" Sundew hissed, tail lashing. The pond's surface trembled with the motion. Her brain short-circuited, scrambling to process this like it was some kind of toxin she needed to neutralize. Cricket? *Liking her?* The same Cricket who once spent three hours explaining why Sundew's leaf-speaking abilities were "suboptimally efficient"? Who alphabetized her beetle collection? Who—
Sundew's thoughts screeched to a halt. "I thought you were with Blue," she said, the words uneven, like she was stepping through quicksand.
Cricket shook her head- a quick, jerky motion. "No. I mean, yes, but… not like that. Blue's my *best* friend, but we're not.. it's not—" Her wings fluttered, scattering pollen into the humid air. "Romantic entanglement statistically decreases long-term partnership viability by—"
"*By the venomous gods,*" Sundew groaned, dragging a claw down her face. "Are you *lecturing* me right now?"
Cricket's mouth snapped shut with an audible *click*. Her spectacles slid another inch down her snout, revealing wide, dark eyes that made Sundew think uncomfortably of overturned soil— something soft and vulnerable beneath the surface. The silence between them stretched taut enough to strangle a dragonfly.
Sundew's tail lashed, sending a spray of pond water across Cricket's spectacles. The HiveWing didn't flinch. Just blinked behind the droplets, her gaze steady in a way that made Sundew's scales prickle. "Stop looking at me like I'm one of your stupid experiments," Sundew growled, turning back to the pond. Her reflection glared back, fractured by ripples.
Cricket didn’t stop looking. If anything, she leaned closer, her breath stirring the hairs along Sundew’s neck like a breeze through grass. Sundew stiffened, her claws curling into fists. "I *said*—"
"You’re not an experiment," Cricket interrupted, voice softer than the pond’s ripples. "You’re…" She trailed off, her spectacles fogging slightly with her exhale. Sundew could *feel* her searching for the right word, that big brain whirring like a beetle’s wings.
"A mess?" Sundew supplied bitterly, flicking another pebble. It vanished without a sound.
"No." Cricket’s claw brushed against Sundew’s wrist, lightning-quick, like she was afraid of being scorched. "A *variable*."
Sundew stared down at Cricket, her claws digging half-moons into the damp earth. The HiveWing's scent curled around her, cinnamon bark and jungle apples, something warm and sharp that clung to her scales like pollen. It shouldn’t have been comforting. It *wasn’t*. Except when Cricket leaned in like this, her spectacles fogged with nervous breath, Sundew could almost forget the last time a HiveWing’s scent meant smoke and burning sap.
"You’re *what*?" Sundew hissed, tail lashing. A frog croaked in the reeds, as if echoing her disbelief.
Cricket’s spectacles slid another inch down her snout. "A variable," she repeated, softer this time. "An… unpredictable element. In the equation." Her claws flexed, sending a pebble tumbling into the pond. "I *like* unpredictable elements."
Sundew’s throat tightened. Unpredictable. Like Willow, who’d scattered sunlight wherever she went. Like Cricket herself, with her facts and her stubbornness and the way she *looked* at Sundew, not like a weapon, not like a storm to be weathered, but like a puzzle she was determined to solve. Sundew’s chest ached. She hated puzzles. Hated how they made her claws itch to rearrange the pieces until they *fit*.
Cricket’s scent curled around her, cinnamon bark and jungle apples, warm and sharp. It shouldn’t have been comforting. It *wasn’t*. Except when Cricket leaned in like this, her breath fogging her spectacles, Sundew could almost forget the last time a HiveWing’s scent meant smoke and burning sap. Almost.
Sundew stared at Cricket’s reflection in the pond—the dappled sunlight on her gold-and-black scales, the way her spectacles magnified her dark eyes into something earnest and owlish. A HiveWing. *Her* HiveWing. The thought lodged in Sundew’s throat like a swallowed thorn.
"You don’t *know* me," Sundew muttered, flicking another pebble. It skipped once before vanishing.
Cricket’s reflection tilted its head. "I know you collect venomous beetles alphabetically. I know you pretend not to like poetry but you *do*, especially the ones about thunderstorms. I know you—" She hesitated, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I know you press that jade frog to your chest when you think no one’s looking."
Sundew’s claws twitched toward the pouch over her heart. "That’s *stalking*," she hissed, but the heat in her voice fizzled halfway out. Because Cricket wasn’t wrong. She never was. It was infuriating.
The jungle hummed around them- cicadas, frogs, the distant shriek of a hunting hawk. Normal sounds. Safe sounds. But Sundew’s pulse thrummed louder than all of them. Cricket smelled like cinnamon bark and jungle apples, like the first rain after a drought. It shouldn’t matter. It *didn’t*. Except….
Cricket nudged Sundew’s shoulder with her snout, so gently it could’ve been an accident. "You’re thinking too loud," she murmured. "I can *hear* it."
Sundew scoffed. "HiveWings can’t—"
"Statistically, no," Cricket interrupted, pushing her spectacles up with a claw. "But you’re *grinding your teeth*, Sundew. I have *data*."
Sundew unclenched her jaw. Damn HiveWing and her stupid observational skills. "I was thinking," she muttered, "that you’re still a *HiveWing*."
The words hung between them, sharp as thorns. Cricket blinked.. slow, unflinching; before adjusting her spectacles with that infuriating precision. "Yes," she said simply. "And you’re still a LeafWing."
Sundew’s tail twitched. That wasn’t the argument she’d expected. Cricket was supposed to flinch, to bristle, to *react*. Not just… *agree*.
The words curled between them like smoke; thin, dissipating, impossible to grasp. Sundew stared at the pond, where her reflection refused to meet her gaze. She could feel Cricket’s breath hitch, the way her claws twitched against the mud like she was stopping herself from reaching for a scroll to record this moment. The jungle held its breath. Even the frogs had gone silent once more it seemed.
"I *should* still hate all HiveWings," Sundew muttered, stretching her wings so the gold flecks caught the fractured sunlight. The motion sent a shower of pollen spiraling into the humid air—tiny, glittering betrayals. Her scales prickled. She shouldn’t be admitting this. Shouldn’t be *feeling* this. But the words clawed their way out anyway, ragged as thorns. "But… I don’t hate you, Cricket." She bared her teeth, as if the admission physically hurt. "Even though I *really* want to."
Cricket’s spectacles fogged entirely. She didn’t wipe them. Sundew watched her reflection in the lenses, distorted, warped, unrecognizable—before Cricket finally pushed them up her snout with a trembling claw. "Oh," she breathed. Just that. Just *oh*, like Sundew had handed her a live grenade wrapped in birthday paper.
Sundew’s tail lashed, scattering droplets across the pond’s surface. "Don’t make it weird," she snapped, as if Cricket had said anything at all. The words tasted like venom on her tongue, too honest, too raw. She should’ve bitten them back. Should’ve swallowed them whole. But they’d clawed their way out anyway, ragged and unbidden, like vines breaking through stone.
Cricket’s spectacles slid down her snout again. She didn’t push them up. "It *is* weird," she said, voice hushed with something Sundew couldn’t name. "Statistically speaking, interspecies friendships post-genocide have a success rate of-"
"*Shut up.*" Sundew’s claws sank into the mud, anchoring herself against the weight of Cricket’s gaze. The HiveWing was looking at her like she was something rare- a newly discovered beetle, a equation that shouldn’t balance but did. It made Sundew’s scales prickle. "I didn’t say we were *friends*."
Cricket’s reflection in the pond blinked, slow and deliberate. "You said you don’t hate me."
"That’s not the same thing."
"Isn’t it?" Cricket nudged a pebble with her claw, sending it rolling toward the water’s edge. It wobbled on the brink before sinking. Sundew watched the ripples spread, distorting their reflections until they blurred together, gold flecks and black ink, LeafWing green and HiveWing yellow.
The jungle exhaled around them, a rustle of leaves, the distant screech of a hawk. Normal sounds. Safe sounds. But Sundew’s pulse thrummed louder than all of them. Cricket smelled like cinnamon bark and jungle apples, like the first rain after a drought. It shouldn’t matter. It *didn’t*.
Almost.
Sundew’s tail twitched. "Don’t push it." The words came out half-growl, half-exhale, as if she couldn’t decide whether to bare her fangs or just *breathe*.
Cricket's spectacles slid all the way off her snout, landing in the mud with a soft *plop*. Her pupils dilated, not with fear, but with that terrible HiveWing curiosity, as if Sundew's rejection was just another phenomenon to be studied. "Oh," she said again, the word smaller this time. She didn't pick up her spectacles. Just stared at Sundew with naked, magnified eyes that made Sundew feel like prey pinned under glass.
Sundew's claws flexed. She hadn't meant to say it like that—ripping the truth out like a rotten tooth. But time with Cricket had sanded down her edges, made her reckless in ways she didn't recognize. Three moons, if they'd had more time together, maybe…
The thought hit her like a venom-dart to the neck. Sundew recoiled, tail lashing hard enough to send pond water splashing over Cricket's spectacles. "Don't look at me like that," she snarled.
"Like what?" Cricket whispered.
"Like I'm some—some *equation* you can solve!" Sundew's wings flared, scattering droplets across the lily pads. "Like if you just rearrange the variables enough—"
"But you *are* solvable." Cricket's voice was softer than Sundew had ever heard it, her unfiltered eyes wide and dark as overturned soil. Without her spectacles, she looked younger. Vulnerable. Sundew hated it. "Everything is. Given enough time and-"
"*Time*?" Sundew's laugh scraped her throat raw. "What do you know about time, HiveWing? Your queen stole centuries from us. My *parents* died because…"
Her voice cracked. The silence that followed was worse than any retort Cricket could've made. The jungle held its breath. Sundew's reflection in the pond wavered, fractured by ripples from her own trembling.
Cricket's claws twitched toward her spectacles lying forgotten in the mud, then stilled. "I know," she whispered. Not an apology. A fact. "And I can't undo it. But I can- " She faltered, her scientific certainty crumbling like wet parchment. "I can *help* you hate me less. In increments. With data."
Sundew's words hung in the humid air like poison ivy sap, sticky, uncomfortable, impossible to wipe away. Cricket didn't flinch. Didn't argue. Just blinked those huge, spectacles-less eyes, her pupils dilating like ink droplets in water.
"You misunderstand," Cricket said finally, her voice measured in that infuriating way that made Sundew want to shake her. "Romantic love has a 78% failure rate among partnered HiveWings due to-"
"*Stop.*" Sundew's tail lashed, sending a spray of pond water across Cricket's snout. The droplets clung to her gold-flecked scales like tiny, accusing mirrors. "I'm not one of your stupid statistics."
Cricket's claws flexed in the mud, carving nervous trenches. "I know," she admitted, softer now. "But equations are... safer. Predictable." Her throat worked around something Sundew couldn't name. "You're not."
The admission hung between them like a spiderweb, fragile, glistening, impossible to ignore. Sundew stared at the way Cricket's wings trembled slightly at the edges, the way her breath fogged the air between them. Three moons, she looked young without her spectacles- vulnerable in a way that made Sundew's back frills ache.
Sundew forced her spines to lie flat. "I don't *do* safe," she muttered, flicking a pebble into the pond. It sank without protest.
Cricket's reflection in the water tilted its head, an inquisitive gesture that would've been charming if Sundew wasn't currently contemplating shoving her into the pond. "I know," Cricket repeated. "But I-" Her voice cracked like drying clay. "I think I could learn to like unpredictable."
Sundew snorted. "You *hate* unpredictable."
Cricket's claws twitched toward her abandoned spectacles before curling into fists. "Statistical anomalies exist," she said, too fast. "Outliers in otherwise consistent data sets. You-" Her throat bobbed. "You're my outlier."
The confession hovered between them—too fragile for Sundew's claws, too honest for Cricket's usual clinical detachment. Sundew stared at the pond, where their fractured reflections overlapped in the ripples. Gold and green. HiveWing and LeafWing. Equation and chaos.
"You don't know what you're asking," Sundew said at last.
Cricket nudged closer, her warmth seeping into Sundew's scales like sunlight through leaves. "I know it's statistically improbable. I know we have…." Her voice hitched. "Historical complications. But probability isn't destiny."
Sundew's wing moved before she could stop it, a reflexive twitch that sent her right wing unfurling halfway over Cricket's smaller frame. The motion was stiff, unnatural, like a vine forced to grow in the wrong direction. Cricket froze beneath it, her scales suddenly too warm against Sundew's, her breath hitching audibly. Sundew stared at her, at the way the dappled sunlight caught on Cricket's spectacles-less snout, highlighting the faint scar above her eyebrow, a relic from some long-ago experiment gone wrong.
Three heartbeats passed. Cricket didn't pull away.
Sundew's wing trembled. She should retract it. Should snap some insult about personal space. But the words died in her throat when Cricket leaned, just slightly, into the shelter of her wing, her shoulder pressing against Sundew's like a sapling seeking sunlight. The contact sent a jolt through Sundew's scales, equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.
"You're..." Cricket began, her voice hushed with something Sundew refused to name.
"Don't," Sundew growled, but her wing remained stubbornly in place. The ink blotchy marks along Cricket's scales caught the fractured light filtering through Sundew's wing membrane, turning them into constellations Sundew hadn't consented to memorize.
Cricket's breath hitched. Slowly, deliberately, she tilted her head until her temple rested against Sundew's shoulder. A spark of panic flared in Sundew's chest, too close, too vulnerable- but before she could react, Cricket murmured, "Your wing membrane has nineteen percent more chlorophyll concentration than Willow's."
Sundew blinked. Then snorted. Then, against all reason, laughed; a sharp, startled sound that startled a frog into leaping off a lily pad. "You're *impossible*," she muttered, but her wing settled more firmly around Cricket's shoulders.
"I'm statistically improbable," Cricket corrected softly. Her claws flexed in the mud, then stilled. "Like this."
Sundew studied her reflection in Cricket's abandoned spectacles—the warped version of herself staring back with Cricket's unfiltered gaze. The lenses magnified everything: the flecks of pollen caught in Cricket's eyelashes, the way her scales darkened along her spine when nervous, the faint tremor in her folded wings. Sundew's tail twitched. Three moons, she could map Cricket's tells better than her own frilled webs.
A dragonfly buzzed between them, its iridescent wings casting prismatic shadows across Cricket's face. Sundew watched its trajectory with narrowed eyes- left, right, hovering- before snapping it from the air with practiced ease. She held it up by one wing, watching the light refract through its struggling form. "Poisonous," she declared, more to break the silence than anything.
Cricket's nose wrinkled. "Actually, that's *Libellulidae quadrimaculata* completely harmless unless-" She froze as Sundew popped the dragonfly into her mouth, crunching deliberately. "...You're doing that to annoy me."
Sundew smirked around the insect's twitching legs. "Is it working?"