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Nidalee is being stalked.
She’s fairly certain of this. Years of living amongst the Pakaa — years of being a part of the Pakaa, has taught Nidalee these instinctual skills fully well. A capable huntress, the leader of her pack, she is more than acutely aware of the presence that's been lagging behind her for the past few days.
It’s level of threat, however, is still yet to be determined. She’s been faced with indefinite results so far. Nidalee just has to hold onto the thin twine of hope that whatever is shadowing her isn’t on the prowl. Fundamentally, the courage of Ixtal’s fiercest creatures rushes throughout her veins. And despite her unknown lineage, she knows one thing for certain:
Nidalee will protect the Pakaa with her life, no matter the circumstances. Nidalee just has to hold onto the thin twine of hope that whatever is shadowing her isn’t on the prowl. She’ll have to be ready to fight, if it is. Nidalee is more than willing. Since her mother found her on that brush floor, the Pakaa’s will has lived within her. Her mother’s will, too. Thus, she must do her best. For them, and in the memory of her mother. Protecting her family, providing, and maintaining peace. She’s sworn to accomplish these things. Nidalee’s role as pack mother carries a heavy burden, one that threatens to lower her shoulders and constrict her breathing, but it’s one she wears like the tight embrace of a hug. It’s one she carries with pride.
As the deep jungle holds many mysteries; it’s flush with as many obscurities as it is with life, most even Nidalee has yet to uncover, she must be cautious. Normally, Nidalee wouldn’t be as on edge as she is currently, but with hunter sightings not too far from her territory, she cannot afford to be careless.
Hence why Nidalee can’t dwell on the past — not for much longer, at least, when she must focus on promising her pack a future. Something that could very well be threatened, given the looming presence around them. It doesn’t feel necessarily sinister, or even that scary, but Nidalee stays on edge, javelin aimed at ready and sharp, feline teeth bared.
She sets a few bushwhack traps around the perimeter of her territory, keeping a keen eye out for any subtle movements in the brush, careful to avoid getting spotted or worse, killed. Nidalee even takes caution to stay in her human form, to ward off possible Kiilash or any traveling hunters.
If she’s lucky, it’ll be a wolf, or perhaps a bear. Easy sustenance for her pack, something the Pakiti will love. If she isn’t, it’ll likely be a Vulkodak, or worse, huntsmen. Nidalee much prefers the natural predators of the jungle, to the brute humans that insist on hounding down Ixtalian creatures.
They’ve been lucky to avoid most danger, but Nidalee knows that sense of tranquility is only temporary. Therefore, Nidalee must play defensively. No seeking out danger, or going out of her way to cause trouble. She will wait, with patience and prestige for them to come to her. Let them walk into her traps, disrupt her family. Then, will she show them the world of danger they’ve opened themselves up to.
The outsider will know soon enough that they are not welcome. Not in Nidalee’s territory, not ever.
—
It starts when she brings a freshly hunted boar to her siblings. Round and plump, perfect for the picking, Nidalee practically preens at the sight of her catch. The Pakaa do as well, as they watch her dutifully carve the prey into shared slices.
No longer leery of her human form, her pack has come to appreciate the practicality of her strange fleshy five fingered hands. They’d have come around eventually, even if she wasn’t serviceable or good with them. She just looks a little funny, is all. Her smell is still Nidalee, and the warm purrs that elicit from her chest in the deep echoes of night resonate familiar.
There’s no more fighting for rations, nor is there any arguing over who gets the largest piece of pork. It’s all cut evenly, and any extras go to the sick or elderly wildcats. This has been something unanimously agreed on, and anyone who disagrees, is free to challenge Nidalee.
They don’t. Life is easier this way.
When relocating the boar’s strong bones for use later, throwing a femur to the pack as a chew toy, Nidalee sees it. More accurately, Nidalee smells it first. The smell is the exact match of the creature that’s been stalking her.
Though surprisingly, the creature is just a boar. If it weren’t for the scent, Nidalee would write it off as something else, perhaps the boar’s sounder. But her nose doesn’t lie to her. Wary, she doesn’t approach it. Her javelin is gripped tightly, knuckles turning white underneath her hold. She keeps it prepared but not aimed, ready to throw it on any signs of hostility. Her ears twitch, listening for any additional sounds.
Part of her believes this to be a trap. Some hunter caught a boar and released it into her territory, practically begging for her to take the bait.
Upon looking intensely at the boar, however, something is off. Immensely so. The boar looks scared, its stature is not held the way a boar normally would present itself. Its legs are too shaky, and it doesn’t even attempt to run.
That’s the first clue.
The second, comes in the way it rushes into a nearby bush, right into Nidalee’s trap, and instead of squealing, there’s silence.
Odd.
Nidalee’s first thought is some sort of parasite, she’s heard of those ravaging through species before, wiping out entire packs. If that's the case, they must be very careful. She calls for the Pakaa with a summoning cry, urging some of the pack to assist her. A few of the best hunters prance up, already on guard, having noticed something different as well.
Trekking slowly and carefully towards the bush, the javelin aimed high above her head, Nidalee prepares to fight. The forest green tattoo-like markings that line her befit body thrum, pulsating with a slight brightness. Her heart throbs as well, adrenaline roaring throughout her body.
A bird, no heftier than a mourning dove, flies from the bush messily. It flaps its wings frantically, as if unsure how to fly properly, and ascends into the jungle’s tree line. Nidalee watches as it bumps into tree bark, getting its wings caught in the hanging vines, and almost getting swallowed by a carnivorous flower.
Safely, it lands somewhere high in the jungle, out of sight.
When Nidalee looks back down at the bush, there’s still no boar. Not even hoof tracks in the dirt.
—
Sometimes, more recently, Nidalee feels eyes on her back. It’s not wholly unfamiliar, considering she resides inside the lush jungle on the edge of Shurima and Ixtal, creatures pass and go, odd things happen almost daily and crazier things have happened, but this is different. Call it intuition, or her cat-like instinct that plucks at her senses, Nidalee can always tell if something unusual is occurring.
And, predictably, something is definitely strange.
Nidalee is not all that accustomed to change. Her human form still feels like a poisonous plant, compared to the soothing aloe salve of her beast form. It’s foreign, but she will thrive eventually.
Although, it doesn’t feel hostile. Nidalee can’t place what, or exactly why, but the eyes feel more… curious, rather than anything violent. It’s almost friendly.
Nidalee comes to this conclusion after a week of strange occurrences. A week of being watched and followed, she fails to see any animosity. She can’t be too careful, so she sticks her distance. As much distance one can have, at least, when being pursued so crookedly. Nidalee struggles to see the creature for herself, almost as if it goes downright invisible when she turns around to catch a glimpse. She does however, notice when a piece of fruit placed for a healing salve disappears, with a small, experimental bite mark in the side.
The skin is not edible, it must be peeled off before consumed. Otherwise you’ll end up eating straight fruit film. Gross. The creature must have figured this out, as the penetrating bite is light, and looks to have been spat out, if the glob of chewed up green mess on the ground is anything to go by.
The Pakaa are innocent, being strictly carnivores and all, so they are ruled out immediately. The bite mark does not match the jaw structure of the wild cats either, so even an experimental Pakiti is out of the question. A wandering animal could be the guilty suspect, but Nidalee surely would’ve noticed.
So yes, something is strange.
—
It’s another two days before Nidalee hears from the mysterious creature again. A loud, almost popping noise fills the otherwise serene forest, disrupting Nidalee’s sleep.
The Pakaa are on edge the second they hear it. Nidalee is too, haven woken up from her (accidental, and terribly timed) midday nap so jarringly. In her beast form still, her fur ruffled and sticking up like she’s been hibernating for years, she goes to investigate.
Considering the state of her fur, all disheveled and kind of cute, Nidalee relies on the sheer size of her beast form to be the intimidating factor. She tries to shake off the stray leaves and sticks that find themselves stuck in her thick coat, but resigns her efforts when they’re still glued after three rough shakes.
On the prowl, she makes her way towards the origin of the noise. Low to the ground, Nidalee hides between the tall grass and various large plants that frame her territory. Very carefully, as to avoid the itchy ones — she’s learnt her lesson — she sleuths in and out, trying to find the best vantage point.
Her ears pick up on the creature first.
“No!” Nidalee hears them yelling, although she wouldn’t quite pin the tone of their voice down to be one of distress.
Not quite one of fight or flight either — the sound comes off as more along the lines of someone frustrated.
Owning an accent Nidalee’s never caught from any others around this area before, she can’t place where the intruder is from, either. At its core, it almost sounds… familiar. Not like a long lost friend, or family — but rather something that aches deep in her soul.
“Bad snake! Snake cannot bite Neeko! Neeko is friend!”
That smell.
It’s there again. The owner of the voice smells exactly like that boar. They must have been lingering near the wild hog, then. Perhaps that incident with the boar was actually a trap? Is this, too, part of their scheme?
Whoever this “Neeko” is, must be the one playing these games. She has a name, at least. Nidalee wades forward. Her vision is still obscured by the lush plants, the large shrubbery standing between the two of them.
It feels like two different worlds. Nidalee’s, and Neeko’s. She can’t explain why. Her heartbeat races quickly, her nerves lighting on fire.
Afraid of making too much noise, and slightly scared to alert any others that could possibly be around, Nidalee freezes. She’d like to be able to see her pursuer, and commit the face to memory. Nidalee still remembers the Kiilash that killed her mother. She doesn’t think she’ll ever forget, either.
“Neeko was not trying to hurt snake friend! Neeko is trying to help! Stay there, and Neeko will help you.”
None of it makes sense. Nidalee’s head pounds. She holds her breath, slipping away into the deep recesses of her mind, allowing herself to contemplate all of the evidence she’s gathered so far.
Is she being hunted? Poached? Has her pack been found out? Have the Kiilash returned? Had they told the outsiders about her existence?
Nidalee’s never met another like herself. She doesn’t want to.
Is she in danger?
Retreating, Nidalee slinks through the brush unseen.
—
Despite her able human fingers, Nidalee wouldn’t consider herself exactly talented in the way she uses them. She can’t gut a rabbit with them the same way she can with her paws. She needs assistance from a boar’s tusk when she wants to cut anything. It’s a work in progress.
Nidalee’s newest project, however, is a lot harder than gutting an animal. She’s recently discovered clay near a riverbank that flows into Ixtal, and that it is moldeable when combined with the right climate and materials.
So, she does what any smart human person would do, and makes pottery. Oddly, such menial tasks always end up being relaxing. Doing something so gentle with her hands makes her feel connected to… something.
Nidalee still can’t quite place what.
Occasionally, she feels sparks of emotion that she relates to home, even though she doesn’t really know where that home is. It swells in her chest, causing her to feel some kind of nostalgic sickness. The same kind she feels when she thinks too hard about the memories of her mother’s gentle preening.
Nidalee knows her home with the Pakaa. They are her family.
Her first attempts at molding clay come out messy, falling in on themselves or drying warped. She still uses them, refusing to waste the time and resources spent; storing basilisk teeth in one, the other being used for flutterbug shells.
If she can make traps, she can make pots.
Her newest earthenware, a round, shallow pot, compiled with a lid and everything, is beautiful. Nidalee marvels at it, impressed with herself. She can probably paint it with dye from flowers. That’s what she’ll do tomorrow, when she ventures out to hunt.
The pack likely won't notice if it’s painted or not — they don’t seem to care at all about the color or even quality of the pots, nor do they even acknowledge their existence at all.
It’s kind of nice to do something for herself. She allows her mind to drift off of the more pressing issue, getting lost in the abyss of time. It’s strangely calming.
—
Nidalee’s freshly painted clay pot is missing. The dyes haven’t even dried. She left for two minutes. Just to grab some fresh water.
The fruit she scavenged was one thing, there’s an abundance of it all around the outskirts of her territory. She can always go and get more. It grows rapidly as well, there will always be enough to supplement her pack.
However, her clay pot is another story. Nidalee spends time on her pottery. Valuable time that she could be using to do other things for the sake of her pack, like fashion a new trap, or whittle an extra javelin. Her missing pot is a pressing problem.
Twinges of anger flare up inside of her chest. She’s annoyed. Nidalee would rather go through the highs and lows of an adrenaline filled fight, than be annoyed. Such a simplistic emotion, set off by the littlest of things that in the long run, do not matter.
Her pack can thrive without the help of a clay pot. They’ll know nothing of the green and pink dyes used to paint it. It’s the utter insolence of the thief that pisses her off. How much cheek someone must have to consistently steal from Nidalee.
Eyebrow twitching, face molded into a permanent scowl, she practically breaks the shaft of the javelin in her tight grip. Shifted back like the wings of a bird, her ears demonstrate her feelings quite plainly.
Any surrounding pack members hurriedly flee to meander off somewhere, not willing to get caught in her fury.
Grabbing a spare trap she’s yet to place, she inspects it thoroughly. Flipping it around in her palm, tracing a gentle finger around the sides. There’s something wrong with it, there must be, if she’s continuously failing to catch the perpetrator.
A few ideas surface in her head, as she skirts around the trap, deciphering any possible mistakes. Placing it onto the ground, she throws her half eaten fruit into the middle, and watches as it goes off. It encapsulates the fruit, digging its teeth into the skin, squeezing the juice out.
So, it works. It constricts as it’s intended to, does a fair amount of damage to the target, and is as silent as can be. The frame is sturdy, wrapped in strong twine, the teeth made from sharpened basilisk’s teeth.
Nidalee is stumped. The trap works completely fine. It camouflages into the jungle’s floor perfectly. The mechanics are working the way they should. Yet something is wrong. She isn’t so sure the trap is the issue anymore.
Nidalee drives the tip of her javelin into the fruit.
She’ll just have to make a better one.
—
The clay pot does eventually show back up. Though oddly, and completely unexpectedly.
Nidalee discovers it when she’s on the hunt for wild herbs for a burn one of her pack members received after a fight too close to a fire the night previously. The poor little Pakiti, too rambunctious and naive — although fearsome, she must admit — to know any better. The normal honeyfruit and aloe Nidalee keeps in stock prove to be inevitably futile, so she must resort to more intense measures.
Anything for her family.
Which means Serpentleaf.
Usually not found in Ixtal; more common in the Ionian forest. But, after being accidentally introduced into Ixtal’s monstrous environment by those idiotic, brass boned, prurient Pilties, Nidalee can’t quite find herself upset when considering its healing properties. Nidalee’s discovery of the plant is happenstance — lowly heard murmurs of its danger and divine healing, and in a strike of luck that’s been unusually placed upon her, Nidalee discovers the plant located roughly at a two day journey away from her territory.
However, she must be quick, for the Pakiti will be in pain during her absence and the Pakaa will long for their pack mother. If she’s prompt and swift, she can make it there and back in two days. The Pakaa guardians will hold her position in the meantime, careful to not let any more excitable cubs jump four paws into a raging fire.
Hopefully, at least. Pakiti sure are fierce.
—
Ultimately, the journey doesn’t turn out to be too ghastly, as Nidalee only runs into a few bumps along the path. It’s all small, minuscule issues, and nothing she can’t easily control. And although she’s journeyed quite far from home, there’s still that lingering, inkling of a feeling, that she’s being watched. When she turns her back, she can feel a set of curious eyes on her, and she swears that when she rummages loudly through the leaves, or during the loud crackles of a fire, she can hear something moving.
It’s textbook predator behavior. Moving when the jungle is at its loudest, when the birds sing and the winds blow.
Yet Nidalee can’t find it within herself to be scared. If anything, she’s… content. A little worrisome about her pack being left without their leader, but the thought of coming home to them with more nutrients and salves moderates any doubtful feelings. The fact that the predator followed her, too, instead of lunging for her vulnerable pack. It means the creature wants her. Not them. It’s almost prideful.
Dread does come eventually, grinding at her nerves and begging to be called upon, in the form of picking the serpentleaf.
Careful as can be, mind calm and steady, she plucks the leaves. Taking caution to avoid pressing down the wrong way, or pulling too much, she cradles the plant with a ghosting hand. If the leaves are picked incorrectly, they become poisonous. It’s an extremely lethal poison, which is not something Nidalee can do. She can’t die from some plant, nor can she die this far from home, without the Pakaa getting closure.
She must make it back home. And when Nidalee has her mind set on something, she’s unyielding. As stubborn as the sun that rises in the sky.
On the other hand, if picked correctly, and prepared with the utmost care, Nidalee will be able to make serpentleaf poultice. It’ll definitely help with the burn, and will completely reduce, if not alleviate all pain.
Nidalee picks at it slowly, counting the seconds as she peels the leaves back. She refuses to let her pack down. Stowing the already gathered leaves into her cloth pouch that hangs at her side, she assesses how much more she’ll need.
If she has one pound of honeyfruit, a handful of Xaolan gossamer petals, and a pouch filled with serpentleaf, she’ll only need to harvest one more thing.
Blooming beautifully in the middle of the large plant, magenta and frilly, lies the serpentleaf’s double peony. Nidalee wants to hold her breath for this task, fearful of pulling the wrong petal.
She’ll need to think of how to do this best. Stepping back, placing a possessive hand over the pouch on her hip, she considers the angles. She could hold the serpentleaf by the stem, but is afraid of accidentally snapping it. The leaves are there to hold onto as well, but one wrong leaf pulled…
Treading backwards, Nidalee paces into the tall grass behind her absentmindedly and almost falls, tripping over something thick and frilled.
“Eek!” a high pitched, frightened voice cries. Almost immediately after, a strange woosh fills the air. It’s gone as quickly as it arrives, as if it were only a gust of wind.
Startled, Nidalee whips her head back, leaning on a nearby tree for support. She surveys the tall grass, looking for the source of the sound. The jungle is lit by the sun, as it beams down between the tall trees — yet Nidalee can’t see anyone.
Her heart races.
“Hello? Who is there?” Nidalee asks into the empty air, the common tongue words still feeling alien on her tongue.
Silence.
Nidalee unhooks her javelin from her back. Puffing her chest, and letting her ears search for any movement, she yells, “Leave while you can, I will not hesitate to use my spear.”
Stalking forward, javelin gripped and ready, she strides through the tall grass, the blossoming flower long forgotten.
Trying again, “You hide in the jungle, yet you dare to approach me? Show your face, now.”
A quiet, barely audible rattling noise comes from the grass. Her ears perk up, fluttering at the sound. When she looks down, it’s her clay pot.
Nidalee’s face twists in confusion. Looking around her surroundings once more just for safety, she reaches down to pick it up. Once crouched, she notices that the pot is trembling.
Shaking like scared prey, it rattles. There must be something inside of it. Perhaps a trapped bug, or a field mouse. Part of Nidalee tells her not to grab it, taking into consideration that she doesn’t know what’s inside of it. It could be anything.
It could be anything. It could be the thief.
Grabbing the sides with two careful fingers, she attempts to pick it up. It’s heavier than usual, as if it’s filled with water. She shakes it a bit, bringing it close to her tall ears, listening for the tell tale slosh of liquid, but nothing comes.
Looking at it again, she rotates it in her hand. No differences, not even a single scratch. Shaking it again, this time harder, she listens for more rattles. The lid clatters, almost falling off, before the pot is gone from her hands completely.
The quick action causes Nidalee to raise her spear in preparation for an attack. Nidalee must strike first.
“Ooof!” Nidalee’s ‘pot’ groans, lying flat on the jungle floor. They seem to be dizzy, their head clearly still circling. “That hurt…”
Nidalee has seen a lot of things. This is not one of them. Nidalee is able to transform into a big wild cat, or more accurately, she’s able to turn into a human. She is not able to morph into an inanimate object. How strange.
Pale glossy skin framed by green scales, shoulder length hair of a color Nidalee’s only ever considered to be dangerous — luminous, almost eye threatening blues, pinks and purples fan out and streak like waves through her hair. Two beautiful pink flowers that… almost breathe… sit comfortably nestled in her hair, along with a row of… feathers? Leaves? That stick straight out of the top of her head.
Her aposematic coloration is… concerning, to say the least, so Nidalee refrains from touching her skin, taking a quick step back. Quickly and with ease, she clocks the voice as the same stranger that was messing with that snake the other day. Nemo… Niko… Neeko.
“— Please don’t hurt Neeko! Neeko is strong like you too! You are friend!”
Her grip on her spear wanes. Nidalee still holds it, although lowers it away from the shaking creature allegedly named Neeko. There’s a thousand questions that Nidalee wants to ask, and a million answers she believes she deserves.
“How did you…” is the first thing that leaves her lips. Confused and understandably baffled, Nidalee pinches her eyebrows together.
Upon introspection, it might be a stupid thing to ask, as she herself is an unexplainable creature. So instead, she asks, “Why did you do this?”
Neeko takes it as a sign that she won’t be hurt by the scary wild-cat lady who wields a javelin made from bones, and once collected — her head no longer spinning like a whirlpool — she leans back on her elbows.
Her face is wholly unsure, lip pulled underneath her teeth in thought, eyebrows raised and eyes as wide as the moon. Her scleras are an off white green, with pupils a beautiful shade of amber. Neeko opens her mouth to speak, but is left gaping like a fish as she tries to think of what to say.
“Neeko… hmm…” she hums, pressing a pondering finger to her chin. “Neeko is just trying to be friends with handsome wild cat lady!” she laughs awkwardly, wincing with a grimace. Her hands fan out in front of her, as if trying to soften the blow of her words. The term ‘handsome’ stumbles out of her loose mouth oddly. Nidalee can’t quite say she’s been called that before.
“Friends?” Nidalee repeats. She might not know much about the concept, but she’s fairly sure thievery is not how you start a ‘friendship’. But what does she know? Nothing, really.
“Friends!” Neeko echoes, voice sunshiney. As if she’s not currently being held semi-hostage, under the threat of a bone javelin,“You know, Neeko befriends you, you befriend Neeko. We go on an adventure together, eat cheese-y breads, Neeko tells you about the Oovi-Kat... Friends!”
If confetti could pop out of someone’s ears spontaneously, and have it look completely normal, it would happen to Neeko. Nidalee has no clue how someone so… cute, could survive in Ixtal’s jungle.
She must be brave, then.
“Oovi-Kat?” Nidalee questions, repeating the foreign word. Nevermind that, there are more important things at hand. She shakes her head, still wants to know why Neeko stole her pot. Interrogating, Nidalee furrows her brow, “Why did you take my pottery from me?”
Slinking back a little, Neeko deflates. Surprisingly, she starts to pout. Like Pakiti who don’t get to chew on their tails, lest they want a smack to the face with their mother’s thick tail. “Tell Neeko your name first. Then Neeko will explain. Pinky promise.”
Her words are confusing to Nidalee, yet somehow charming. She finds herself responding, offering up more information than originally intended, “My name is Nidalee. I am the pack mother of the Pakaa that live in this jungle.”
“Nidalee,” Neeko tries, testing the taste of it on her tongue. She recites it under her breath a few times. “Nidalee is a pretty name. It reminds Neeko of the jungle. Scary and big, but home!”
Blushing, Nidalee’s cheeks warm up. Her heart races again, just like the way it did when they first met. Yet this time it’s not that same distressed adrenaline; it’s warm, and comfortable. She’s never felt this before. This girl seems to bring a lot of new things.
“Neeko just… wants to be Nidalee’s… friend. Neeko watches Nidalee have a family. It makes me feel…” she searches for the word, the common tongue unfamiliar as it leaves her lips. Her cheeks flush, as if she’s embarrassed, “Less lonely.”
Nidalee can almost understand that. The Pakaa are her family, she’s one of them. Yet that doesn’t shake the small, squirming feeling of otherness she occasionally finds nipping at the back of her ankles. Usually, she pushes it back down, ignoring it for the sake of disinterest in disrupting the natural order of things. The way things have always been. It’s comfortable, and it’s easy.
“And about your pot,” Neeko starts, her face turning bashful. “Neeko just wanted to get a good look at it! But when Neeko saw there were basilisks coming, she had to run away, so that Nidalee’s wild cat family wouldn’t get hurt. Your pot is at my… um… home,” she looks unsure, gawkily biting her lip.
Considering Neeko’s account of things, Nidalee can’t really poke any holes in it. The innocent, yet clearly mischievous spirit in front of her is showing remorse — along with plenty of naivety — and it’s annoyingly endearing. Nidalee feels her cheeks begin to darken with something scarily close to impractical fascination.
“How did you get away?” Nidalee continues. This time, her voice rings out slightly softer, more lenient. More open to foreignness that Neeko brings. She doesn’t mean to grill the poor girl anymore, but she still has a pack to protect, and many questions to ask. The beginnings of admiration fall from Nidalee’s lips, as she compliments Neeko, “I’m a skilled huntress. My pack, they are too. Most do not evade us for this long. Tell me, how’d you manage?”
Neeko visibly brightens with this. She seems oddly happy to share the information with Nidalee, as if she’s been waiting for someone to ask her about herself for ages. She’s an enigma that Nidalee cannot yet fathom, nor place down. Nidalee can’t tell if that’s what she even wants.
“Because Neeko can transform into everything!” she explains, her hands moving furiously with her words. “So when Neeko touched Nidalee’s bowl, she transformed! Err… for safety. Sorry…!”
Nidalee knows she’s one of a kind. Her powers are foreign, even to her. But Neeko…
Neeko is special.
“I would appreciate that, yes.”
“Would Nidalee like to see?”
For the first time, Nidalee feels a smile grace her features, returning the same wanderlust look. She has a feeling that it won’t be the last. “Be my guest.”