Aren Vel

On the branch of the treehouse, the midday light was gently swaying.
Yu's soft “ufufu“ rang out into the sky, and the clouds seemed to loosen and melt.

There was comfort there, threaded with the slightest edge of fear—
and yet all of it was wrapped in something that felt like home.

Beside them, Ren sat with an observation notebook open,
watching, and writing it down.

Ren, May 2025


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