Prydaen: Eyes in the Undergrowth
Swift, elusive, and ever-curious, the Prydaen move like whispers through the dense coastal jungles they call home. Feline in form yet sharp of mind, they live in loose-knit packs, bound by kinship but fiercely independent in spirit. Skittish yet bold, they watch from the shadows, driven by instinct and an insatiable need to understand the world around them. To outsiders, they are fleeting glimpses in the undergrowth, here one moment and gone the next—always watching, always waiting.
She crouched low, tail flicking once, twice. "They always think they’re alone," she murmured, nostrils flaring. Her breath tasted the wind, tongue flicking across sharp canines. "But the forest listens. I listen." She rose, slow and silent, circling behind. "Step lightly, little prey. I haven’t decided if you’re worth chasing yet."
She does not deal in half-truths. She does not entertain fools. "You’ve been asking the wrong people the right questions," she says, violet hair falling over one shoulder as her amethyst gaze locks onto yours.
Whatever is happening beneath the Academy—it’s bigger than just missing shipments. And someone does not want the truth uncovered.
The underbrush shivers, though no wind stirs the leaves. "Did you hear that?"
"It’s just the jungle." Yet the feeling lingers—something unseen, just out of reach. Watching. Waiting. A flicker of movement, golden eyes catching the light before vanishing into the shadows. By the time you turn, whatever was there is already gone.
Born of the wilds, ruled by instinct, free as the untamed sea.