The rain came suddenly, heavy and cold, drenching the forest in a gray mist. Sera hugged her thin shawl tighter around her shoulders as she stumbled through the undergrowth, each step sinking into the mud. She had only meant to gather a few herbs for her grandmother's medicine, but the storm had turned familiar paths into twisted mazes.
Her heart pounded as the trees loomed closer, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky. "Stay calm, Sera," she whispered to herself. "Just find the path back to the village."
But the forest seemed to swallow her voice, the sound lost beneath the relentless drum of rain. She pushed forward, her feet slipping, and fell to her knees with a gasp. Her hands pressed into the wet earth, cold and unsteady, when she saw it—a shape in the shadows.
A serpent.
Its scales, dark as the storm clouds above, shimmered with an iridescent sheen. The creature was massive, its coiled body half-hidden beneath fallen leaves and thick mud. Sera's breath caught in her throat, fear prickling at her skin. The serpent was still, too still, and as she looked closer, a deep wound stretched along its side, blood seeping into the ground.
Sera's fear wavered, replaced by a hesitant compassion. "You're hurt," she murmured, inching closer. The serpent did not move, its golden eyes closed. She reached out, her hand trembling, and gently touched its scales. They were cool and smooth, the texture like polished stone.
She couldn't just leave it there. Her mind raced through her grandmother's teachings—how to dress wounds, how to soothe injured creatures. Sera unwound her scarf, the soft green fabric already damp, and pressed it against the serpent's wound. Blood, dark and thick, stained the cloth as she wrapped it around the injury.
Her hands moved carefully, creating a makeshift bandage. The serpent remained motionless, its chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The rain fell harder, fat drops splattering against her skin. She needed to find cover—for both of them.
Looking around, Sera spotted broad leaves on a cluster of low-hanging branches. She scrambled to her feet, her skirts heavy with mud, and began pulling the leaves free. Each one was larger than her head, their waxy surfaces repelling water. She returned to the serpent, draping the leaves over its body, creating a canopy that shielded it from the worst of the storm.
Her own hair clung to her face, soaked through, but she didn't care. She sat beside the serpent, her back against a twisted tree trunk, and watched as the rain carved tiny rivers through the mud.
"It's going to be okay," she said softly, not sure if she was speaking to the serpent or herself. Her eyes grew heavy, the cold and exhaustion pulling her into a restless sleep, even as the storm raged on.
Beneath the makeshift shelter of leaves, the serpent's golden eyes slowly opened, a faint glow piercing the shadows.