Arj's ears perked at the word "fish" over the amber. He is, after all, a cat. Though he can live on the nuts and berries the tree provides, the prospect of meat is too much to resist.

Leaving the amber slice on his bed, he checks that the twine holding his gem fast to his foreleg is still in good working order, and hops to the floor. A few bounds down the tree, and he's outside, half jumping, half flying over the roots. The moth wings, he's learnt, are handy for increasing his already considerable turn of speed.

He comes to a stop by the stream, with a sinking feeling his powers are going to be put to the test again. But he straightens himself up anyway, ears and tail raised in attentiveness.

"I heard something about fish," he says.