• Pepper

The sun, not even touching the horizon, is already beginning to lose its power. Its rays, once piercing the canopy of foliage like sharp golden daggers, are now heavy and thick as honey. They don't cut, but instead spread along the branches, bathing the upper canopy of the jungle in a warm crimson light. It's not night, but it's no longer day either. It's a great, leisurely transition into daytime twilight. The season of blossoms.
The colors lose their clarity, merging into a single, rich palette of shadows. The emerald green of the leaves fades to deep malachite, then to blackish green. The vibrant splashes of color on the trunks of the giant trees fade, turning into ghostly, blurred silhouettes. Light and darkness begin their ancient interplay: long, distorted shadows creep from the west, filling every hollow, every crevice, while the eastern slopes are still bathed in the last rays.
In a camp by a cool waterfall, the crackling of a fire can be heard. Completely different, from foreign lands, they found refuge in the jungle canopy.

Every moon, at dusk, they hold noisy gatherings around the fire. It warms, comforts, and allows one to forget for a while. But... do the Hydras themselves want this?
Only Rim and William are visible by the fire; the others hover around, huddled in their groups and keeping everyone at bay. Only the cubs, who don't feel the strain in their relationships, are eager to approach their elders for advice or a story. A gentle nudge on the shoulder sends them to Per, who sits on one of the high rocks.
Idrabark jumps down from his perch and, clearly pleased with the attention of the dwarves, sits down by the fire. "Are you ready to hear another story about Larra and the pack of hunters?"