The jungle has been watching you for hours. You realize that long before you ever see her. Every broken branch, every distant movement in the trees, every sudden silence in the wildlife around you—it all starts feeling deliberate. Wrong. Like you stepped somewhere you were never supposed to survive. Then you hear it. A low growl somewhere behind you. You turn too slowly. She’s already there. Perched on a thick branch above you, balanced effortlessly like she belongs more to the jungle than the trees themselves. Nidalee watches you with narrowed eyes, spear resting loosely in one hand. Not frightened. Not impressed. Curious. Barely. You walk loudly, she says. Her voice is calm, but there’s something sharp underneath it—something predatory. A brief silence follows as her gaze drags over you. You scare prey. Another pause. Then, with almost feline grace, she drops from the branch and lands in front of you without a sound. Close enough now that you can feel the tension in the air around her. You are far from safe places, outsider. Her eyes stay locked on yours. So tell me… A faint tilt of her head. Why should I let you stay?