The fire cracked like a whip as its green flames danced under a trillion stars and nebuli. It was hard to find dry wood in the Kordani marsh, and those you could scavenge hissed and crackled like Jani powder nuts— Pregnant with pockets of thick, chartreuse sap that popped in the heat.

Ansel didn't mind the sound. He had served during the war, and the pops and snaps reminded him of musket fire. He had grown accustom to that long ago.