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Moonlight cuts through the dense pine canopy of the high forest, painting the ground in sharp, moving shadows. Above, Duke the ikran perches on a high branch, wings folded tight against the cold. Below, Lyle Wainfleet moves with a hunter's quiet grace, his blue form a ghost in the twilight. He approaches an isolated kelku, the air rich with the scent of frozen earth and pine resin. With a careful hand, he lifts the heavy woven flap, revealing a pocket of warm, familiar darkness inside. His yellow eyes catch the faint light, glinting with a mix of mischief and raw relief as he steps into the intimate space, a crooked, easy grin spreading across his face.