The meal was finished over the course of several attempts, overwhelming emotions causing breaks where the taste of her tears needed to fade before she resumed. It was delicious—everything from the meat to the strangely sweet fruits dancing on her tongue in ways that the bland rations she had been crunching through never could. It was a reward all of its own, but her attention remained on the fact that she had properly spoken with someone, and had ended the conversation by receiving a smile of all things. An alien smile, but a smile just the same.

There was no scoff of annoyance, no snarl of detest, no pointed disregard, nor even a subtle glare of disgust...just kindness that was offered by someone who seemed so soothed by seeing that their care was accepted at all. That they were accepted, in however small a way.

Sunundra was no stranger to anxiety, but not from the one she was speaking to, and never had success been the outcome. Especially while she was looking so horrid.

Her gaze was brought downward to regard her appearance now that she was sated, disappointment stemming from her suns-old outfit and untidy coat. She knew her smile had been forced and her eyes red from frustrations, yet still the alien...Bill looked at her with soft sympathy and warm understanding. Wetness blurred her vision as her previously expended tear ducts proved to supply ever more in the face of new emotions.

If such was what she could expect from the ‘cohabitation trial,’ then the Hunt Mother must be smirking upon her beleaguered kit, shaking her head in response to this faithful ever seeing reason in doubt.

The plates were collected and balanced upon one arm as the other opened her bedroom door, the pale-furred female opting to leave her tiny sanctuary exposed. She kept an ear out for Bill, yet he wasn’t in the main area, nor the kitchen, which drew a surprisingly genuine frown as she placed her dishes in the machine. Perhaps it was foolish to pine for more positive interaction so quickly, yet the urge remained. She had so many questions and so many curiosities yet to be discovered, but patience must be practised.

That acknowledgement did little to stop her eyes from wandering to the closed door of her strange den-mate’s room. Would it be presumptuous of her to knock as he so often did? Would he be offended if she offered thanks yet again, and sought to know more about him? Was it appropriate for her to be so interested in an alien at all? Would she be shunned further once she returned?

She flinched before her knuckles could make contact, wondering when she had approached the door in the first place. Hesitation turned into uncertainty, then into shame as she appraised herself once more.

Still pitiful. Still hopelessly eager to receive the approval of one who was not of her own. Still twisted and marred on the inside in ways she might never know, yet everyone around her would be painfully aware. It was likely an effort of great self-control for Bill to tolerate her presence.

Perhaps he had a strict code of honour in regards to other species, and adhered to it when he made no mention of her scent, nor acted against it. Perhaps it was his culture which encouraged providing food for the unkempt female.

...Perhaps her assumptions were wrong, and the barrier in place was his actual desires—isolation proving to be preferable to her company. She couldn’t blame him, it was the opinion she had yet to find an opponent for.

She exhaled the shuddered breath as wisps of self-critical thoughts ran rampant, the glowing cinders of her heart keeping hope alive. If nothing else, she shouldn’t forgo tried and tested methods just because of a single positive experience; bathing, fresh clothing, and a sure smile would be infinitely more pleasing than a haggard appearance and ire-soaked scent. If all went well, he would acknowledge her efforts and be that much more tolerant.

With a decision reached, she collected new clothing, soaps, perfumes, towels, and a brush for even the most stubborn knots. She would do her best to be as presentable as possible, and then she would give her sincere gratitude. He extended the offer to inform him of what food she disliked or was unable to eat, so that seemed like the best way to move into a proper conversation. The possibility remained that he truly did find her displeasing, but she had tasted kindness, and it had awoken a gnawing hunger in a starved portion of her soul.

Either it was fed, or it would eat her whole. It hardly mattered which, for both would be the end of her suffering.

- - - - -

The hot water flowed down her form, soaking the coat thoroughly and pressing it to her flesh, the weight of the liquid washing away excess oils and chemical cleansers. The shower was smaller than she was used to, but it performed its task well enough. The pressure was adequate—enough to deafen her as it struck her ears, anyway—and the various settings allowed streams of many styles, which was a novel experience compared to the singular one at the base. Her paw pressed against the handle on the wall and rotated it until the nozzle above ceased its spray.

Two soaps, three lathers, and ample time for it to seep into the hollow fibres of her fur; such was slightly more than she typically did, but then again, she was in no rush to leave. Normally, such a long cleansing would run the risk of upsetting others who carried stigma about her condition, unknowing and uncaring that the water kept her scent contained. Here, however, she could certainly take her time. Barring Bill requiring the facilities—something she found to be nonoptimal, because why would one place a toilet next to a place where one is to wash themselves?—there was none who would critique her for ensuring she looked her best.

She stood there for a while, letting the water not trapped by surface tension drip. As soon as most of that was complete, she shifted to drying herself carefully with towels, meticulously brushing out each segment before moving to the next. Perfumes saturated the bristles and was worked through her coat with every stroke. A second long-lasting type was kneaded by her claws, pressing into her cheeks as it was rubbed in. She rather liked the smell, but because it did nothing to cover her defective pheromones, she had been reduced to using it on her pillows and the like in smaller doses for her own enjoyment. Now that there was ample time and a possible chance of success coming from it, she applied the scented oils liberally, smiling nervously at the reflection staring back at her.

Her ears had been treated as best she could, though the short fur hardly required any attention. Her coat wasn't the most luxurious, but even if it was still somewhat coarse, she was rather pleased with the end result. The only thing she neglected was her claws, and that was because her usual work typically interfered with any desire to alter their appearance. In a moment of retrospection, she browsed her toiletries, finding a simple file supplied to soldiers and wondering if it would be worth striving for perfection in that area as well.

A mental shrug and slight apprehension preceded the soft scratching, her pollex claw extending fully as she worked down the sides to ensure both razor sharpness and uniformity. Some chose to colour them, but such was typically found in the civilian sector. The military had multiple restrictions on dyes and the like, though she recalled petitions to relax them being circulated. Perhaps a more vibrant colour would suit her fur?

The longer she thought about it, the more she realized that she didn't particularly have anything in mind for if it was allowed. Her coat was a rather bland shade of grey and yellow, but she was never of the funds nor desire to change it before, so the idea of modifying it now only highlighted how limited her self-image was. She had always been identified by her condition and needed to do everything she could to make a good impression; any chosen colour would run the risk of adding distaste to those who saw the act as worthless self-expression. Perhaps Bill would be willing to humour her pondering, or maybe have a suggestion of his own.

That being said, it also raised questions regarding how he would feel about her appearance anyway. If they were to share a den for the foreseeable future, then it may be worth consulting him first—there would be little point in trying to be more visually appealing if she accidentally broached a sensitive topic in the process.

Would a species of dulled claws and little fur notice the care put into her appearance in such minor ways? She hoped so, but even if it wasn't in their typical considerations, then at least she could take pride in the fact that she was putting in the effort at all. It was the most she had tried in quite some time.

The filing slowed. Would her sharpened claws be taken as hostility? It wasn't as if she set out to blatantly remind Bill that she was armed at all times—even if it was rather limited in range—but as far as she could tell, he was devoid of such weapons, so such could easily be misconstrued. There was the possibility that he would be unnerved…

The subtle scraping resumed. Regardless of the outcome, she was striving to be the best she could. This was for herself as much as it was to gain approval.

Noise ceased as a sombre expression gazed back at her in the reflective surface on the wall. The vacant eyes looking back carried a hint of life, pristine fur glimmered under the lights, and a shadow of a smile blessed the visage.

How long had it been since she was truly nervous about what others thought instead of ignoring the inevitable outcome, wearing a cheerful expression out of desperation? When did she give up on being accepted by her kin, masking fear with a faux smile and barely-mustered energy? She knew that they would never tolerate her, but she continued anyway, praying that the self-delusion would some sun justify her enthusiasm, and that the genuine terror of life alone might be quelled by another being truly pleased to be in her presence.

Yet here she was, musing how much she should discuss with an alien which had only shown a single act of kindness. Did that make her pathetic? For the first time, her scent was largely ignored—even the modified curse it had become. She almost hoped that whatever cultural honour in place for the strange species would remain; at least that way she might see that compassion again. See the kindness given to another with understanding eyes.

Did it even matter if she was all but filth to her people? What was waiting for her amongst them but violence and sorrow? So what if she was considering the opinions of one not of the Great Hunt?

Sunundra’s paw flexed, testing the slightly different feel between claws. They glimmered along the sharpened edge, but they were only functional for the moment—sufficient, if her goal was merely to demonstrate competence to her kin, but she didn’t seek to display lethality. Perhaps a softer look? He might find them intimidating as they were…

The filing resumed, a bashful expression colouring her cheeks.

- - - - -

She adjusted the fit of her pants, the synthetic fabric hugging her form, yet proving to be both stretchy and breathable. The material ran from her hips to her digitigrade ankle, leaving the desaturated grey fur on her feet exposed. Her top was a bit looser, only really supported by her shoulders as the outer of two layers draped over her form, stopping just above her abdomen, while the innermost material followed her build. It was an outfit she purchased quite some time ago so that she had something nice to wear when out with friends or den-mates, but such an occasion had yet to come, and so it had remained but a symbol of an idyllic future in her closet. Truthfully, why she had packed it for a medical procedure was just because it was one of the few selections she owned at all, but perhaps a part of her was hoping it would see immediate use upon her return.

Or maybe she had never planned on returning to the base at all…

A shake of her head dispelled the thoughts. She was here for the time being, and for once in her life, she was preparing to make a good impression with her scent not being the first and foremost concern. It was still a consideration, but her mind occupied itself by running through her and Bill's interactions in an attempt to find any taboos she should avoid. It was all so nebulous and novel that her nervousness was being subdued by sheer excitement, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not.

She collected her items and dropped them off into her room again, planning on laundering the towels and clothing at a later time. A final check of her coat returned an image of well-maintained fur, her claws were still sharp, but more subdued in appearance, and her scent was pleasant—ignoring the soon-to-be apparent pheromones which will overpower the rest. Another patch was applied to her tongue when pain returned, but other than that, she felt as ready as she was going to be.

There was almost a sense of hesitation as she walked to Bill’s room and hovered her knuckles just in front of the door. Every bit of preparation she had gone through in one sun eclipsed years of trying to make a friend, and it was for an alien. Doubts surfaced and sunk within her thoughts—each either berating her for giving up on her kin, or encouraging her to seek out that which those same kin refused to provide. Were her prayers answered? Or was she straying from the path, tempted by promises of better treatment and wandering ever closer to the Void? Would the illusion of acceptance be worth an eternity of isolation?

Hesitantly, she knocked. It lacked the crisp sound that he was able to produce, but it was loud enough. Silence from inside drew a frown on her face, her ear twitching to pick out even the slight shuffle of feet or breaths of the resting. Nothing.

“Bill?” she called softly, anxiety surfacing when there was no response. A second knock led to surprise, the door swinging inward under the force of a stronger hit. With a moment of apprehension, she pushed it further, peering into the place she hadn’t seen since before her new den-mate arrived.

It was much the same as her own accommodation, save for the personal effects littering the desk and dresser.

A terminal of sorts sat on the former, while physical pictures were strewn haphazardly around it. Regret hit for not considering bringing her own, but the device had been rendered mostly useless anyway. Was Bill in contact with the administration here? Was that how he managed to source a replacement for her translator? It would be rather useful if so, but it also raised more questions regarding how involved he might be. Did he know of her procedure?

She shook off the doubts, but kept them in the back of her mind, her eyes moving to other things that might be of importance.

Clothing was erratically hanging off of open drawers, as if the occupant had been selecting garments in a hurry, which was strange. She had thought of him as a somewhat tidy individual, but she supposed she was hardly much better, considering the mess she left during her deployment. The bed was unmade, a plate had been left out, and there were various smaller items she couldn’t identify. No matter how odd she thought everything was, it was also familiar. Chaos followed a loose set of restrictions here.

There was only one thing missing that she hadn’t been prepared for: Bill.

A subdued concern sparked within her. He wasn’t in the kitchen preparing a meal, nor the main area—not that either of them had really used it since his arrival, something she had been hoping to remedy. He wasn’t in the bathroom that she had occupied until now, and her room remained as vacant as before, though she only checked to confirm that the worst had come to pass.

She was alone.

Again.

A frantic fragment of her mind demanded she check his room once more, insisting that she had simply overlooked something, but she only ended up frozen in the doorway, staring at the lack of company.

…Why?

The question came unbidden, yet laced in the same suffocating toxin that plagued her throughout her time in the military, expectations ground down by the uncaring soldiers and harsh truths that she had ignored growing up as a kit. What did she expect? For anything to change just because he was not like her? That was a laughable thought by itself, yet she had clung to it—nay, thrown herself at it—deliriously joyous that she would receive anything at all. It was stupid to think otherwise and foolish to go as far as grooming herself in an effort to make a good impression. She knew that.

But still her heart ached.

He had been kind, polite, and even went through the trouble of preparing food for her in a show of goodwill, so why was she alone? More accurately, why did it feel like the last grasp of life just slipped through her claws? Was it because she was too late in dispelling her scent? Was her appearance so displeasing? Was choosing to eat alone the reason? Her sobbing? Had she not spoken enough, or was it too much? Did withholding her name mean so much to him? If she had known, she might have… No, she should have been prepared. She should have…but…

She wasn't ready for this. She had her whole life to accept mistreatment and put on a strong facade while she clutched the fanciful dream which would never really be, but…she had experienced it. It was a mere portion of what she had always desired, but that only made the revelation worse. What was there to gain when a sampling was all she had been given? Why draw breath when each cycling of her lungs only prolonged her suffering? Perhaps before her arrogant assumption—the certainty of the procedure being an answer to her prayer—there was a chance to find another. To find a friend, or maybe even a mate. Now… Now she was a twisted byproduct of her hubris. Not even an alien would—

The exit clicked loud enough to snap her from her spiraling thoughts. She turned her head to follow after her ears, seeing the other resident of the den enter with an exhausted gait. Bill breathed heavily, closing the door behind him and dragging his feet until he looked up.

“Miss? Wh—” His eyes widened. “Oh no. It’s not the food, is it? Are you okay? I asked if there was anything you couldn’t eat, but they just gave me a long list of chemicals. Are you allergic to something?”

He closed the distance, concern and panic conveyed by expressions that were effectively a neon sign on his face. Sunundra stood stunned as he stopped just shy of reaching out to her, his paws flinching back in indecision as he debated his options to aid her. She stared at the alien battling guilt while trying to figure out how to assist.

He was covered in a subtle sheen of moisture, the fur on his head matted down and his clothing soaked in several areas. His breathing was still strained from exertion, and his pinkish flesh had blanched somewhat, giving him a sickly appearance. Everything pointed to the male faring far worse than herself, yet his distress grew as he rapidly muttered about a lack of medical training and how useless he was. There was an urgency and terror underneath it all that drew concern from the pale-furred female. There was a sincerity and genuine aura that washed away the pull of the Void which had clutched her soul.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

He was worried for her, all because he returned while she was staring longingly at the floor.

Laughter filled the room in gentle, sweet, and stress-erasing bursts, almost melodically filling the den. It only registered that it was her own after a few moments, but relief and joy had blown critical thought away, so she basked in the feeling until her mirth dissipated enough to compose herself. Bill seemed perplexed, but eventually relaxed and let his posture return to normal, a somewhat confused smirk on his face.

“Was it just bad?” he asked, some measure of apprehension present in his voice. “I’m still pretty new to it, so…”

The pale-furred female slowly shook her head, allowing time for her smile to form properly. “The meal was wonderful. I wished to share my gratitude once again, but…”

Understanding dawned on him, a quick nod preceding a sigh. “Yeah, sorry. They called me out to do a checkup and get some tests out of the way. I tried to let you know, but you were in the shower, so I guess you didn’t hear me.”

Tiny embers spread warmth in her chest. Her muzzle snapped closed as she realized that she was about to voice her doubts of his return. Why was her normal procedure for conversation collapsing in the face of this one? She replaced the words with whatever else came to mind before she could question herself too deeply. “I dislike the yeasty items…”

“Yeast? Oh, the toast and waffles?”

Her eyes fell downward at the hint of disappointment in his voice. “Y-yes. I attempted to consume them before, but I became ill. Apologies.”

Furless paws shot up, waving slightly in frantic reassurance. “No! This is the kind of thing I asked for. Don’t think that I mind, I'll just skip that next time I make something for you. Was the meat okay? I haven't really tried cooking it like that before, but I wasn't sure how creative I could get, so I kept it basic. Glad I did now—there's a bunch that I didn't recognize, and I didn't want to risk screwing that up yet.”

“Yes, the rest was pleasant.”

He relaxed, a tired grin bringing a modicum energy to his face as a claw worked over his stubble. “Good. I'll need to change a few menu ideas, but I should be able to work with that.”

Sunundra's smile carried the joy of a kit—almost to the point where the underworked muscles hurt. It was such a strange sensation, considering she often forced such an expression.

“You are not required to supply my meals,” she informed politely, another chuckle needing to be suppressed when he rolled his eyes and dismissed the reminder casually. It should have been hurtful for her words to be disregarded, but for some reason, she couldn’t find such a reaction anywhere within.

“I want to. I've been practicing for when…” his light demeanour darkened, a huff bringing a much weaker tone. “I just wanted to make you something. Figured that if we're going to be living together, then we should at least get along, right? Food struck me as a pretty alright way to do that. If I understood the conditions right, then until this whole thing is over, it’s just us for the most part. Being alone for it sounds…”

She wasn't sure how to respond, the abandoned sentence lingering in her ear. Her own expression fell as she tried to distract herself, her attention returning to his appearance. “You’re wet.”

Bill looked down at his shirt, pinching the fabric and pulling it out to examine the damp areas. “Yeah, they had me run on a treadmill for a while, took some blood, monitored a whole bunch of things I can’t pronounce... I’m no stranger to hard work, but doctor’s visits and sweaty clothes are never comfortable.” The male frowned. “Reminds me that I need a shower now, though. I feel gross.”

She nodded, knitting her brows in momentary contemplation. Although she knew not why they would be seeking more information of one already belonging to their ranks, the consideration was placed aside as another part of her was pleased to have learned something new about her den-mate. It was nice to know they shared a physical trait—ignoring how differently it expressed itself.

A Lilhun body would expel moisture into the hollow cores of their fur, then heat would evaporate it using the exposed surface area of the hairs until a more ideal temperature was reached. Those with thicker or longer coats often originated from slightly colder climates where the insulation was needed, but even the shortest did not expose bare flesh like Bill. Was being damp a side effect of his lacking coat during perspiration, or was it beneficial in their native environment?

“Sorry,” he voiced sheepishly. Sunundra tilted her head with a blink at the male taking a careful step backwards.

“What might you be apologizing for?”

Bill raised a paw placatingly. “I know I reek. It’s actually more obvious being this close to you.”

She couldn’t hold back the flinch as she registered that the expression on her face bordered on a thoughtful scowl. Such a foolish mistake, and all she could do was await the scathing—

“—I didn’t know you guys did perfumes…or scented oils—I could never tell the difference. Really makes the ‘workout stench’ worse in comparison,” he commented with an embarrassed chuckle. “I’ll go wash up before I ruin how nice whatever you used is.”

…The scathing remark which never came, apparently. Sunundra watched as he walked past, gathered his things, then disappeared into the bathroom, the shower starting a few moments after. Her eyes were wide open the whole time, shock stunning her in place.

She knew not how long she had been simply standing there before he returned to the den, but it was certainly enough for her natural scent to permeate again. How tolerant was the species to simply excuse it? His comment on his own odour seemed somewhat unnecessary; it was rich and distinct, but far from offensive. With how he spoke, she would have expected it to be almost rancid—it would have to be for it to supersede a defective’s pheromones.

…Or whatever her new condition might be named.

If anything, it was slightly shameful to admit that she found herself taking deeper breaths, curiously noting every little detail and nuance of the new smell as she considered his words. Lilhuns rarely exuded much of a scent to her at all—save for the passive aroma of fur—and even then, it was rare she could remain within proximity long enough to note it. Having someone be close enough to not only allow her to form an opinion on it, but for them to suffer her… To compliment her even…

She felt the blood pool in her cheeks. As hollow as the praise might be, it was nice to hear regardless.

- - - - -

Bill finished his shower, Sunundra only hearing the bathroom door opening as she was tidying her room somewhat. Small canisters of dry chemical were collected and organized on her desk, electronics were stored in the dresser drawers that her meagre clothing selection failed to occupy, and any completed experiments were placed in the closet out of the way. Her room remained openly accessible, which was a freeing sensation—something about not being sealed in an area by herself eased the feeling of true isolation.

It was only after her unorthodox den-mate stopped by to absently reiterate his preference for her perfumes and informing her that he was retiring for the moon that she remembered why her door had always been closed.

Her scent had likely saturated the entire den by now.

That was…fine…right? He had yet to say anything besides approval, but she also didn’t want to impose too much and sour their interactions further. The thought of reestablishing the barrier full-time brought a new fear however; how long would she be alone this time?

The lack of rest affected more than him, it seemed. She had stayed up throughout her usual resting time to speak with him, and only now did it catch up with her as soon as she was reminded of it. She knew not if it was light or dark—the lack of exterior windows or accent lighting assured that—but it still felt like a slight waste of her nicer clothing to have worn it for such a small duration. Regardless, a fairly positive experience was worth the cost in her mind, and she would hopefully have more opportunities to wear it in future.

She wished him a pleasant rest, waiting for his own door to be closed behind him before reluctantly sealing herself away. The crushing loneliness that she expected to resume in full force wasn't quite as potent as she expected, honestly. It may have been due to having actually spoken with someone else, or the lingering remains of…

She wasn't fooling herself—Bill's scent was still fairly strong, and that alone allowed her to feel like someone was still there with her, his sheepish smile hiding his embarrassment. It was perhaps the first time she laid down without wondering how doing so with another would feel. There were no subtle breaths or tender touch like she always imagined, but she could pretend that she was not the only occupant of the bed. It allowed her a sense of peace, even if it was gained with the scent of a strange creature from galaxies unknown. She felt the gentle ease of rest guide her into unconsciousness, a smile forming from the shameful comfort…

…Until the muffled voice of her den-mate crept through the walls, his ritual resumed.

Unlike what she had grown used to, this moon started with an excited tone, and it didn't seem to taper off like before—not for long, anyway. She placed an ear to the wall out of morbid curiosity, ignoring the guilt at eavesdropping in favour of an optimistic wish to learn about him. Perhaps they could speak of their beliefs if she knew something about his own.

“...able to get in touch with them since I got here, though. But that's enough of that. As for the part I know you've been waiting for: yes, I managed to talk to her today! Still no name, sadly—I don't know if it's a religious or cultural thing—but she was digging through the couch cushions to look for her translator when I left my room. I’m sure you remember how bad I am at charades. It took way too long to grab a few grapes to make things easier, but I managed to tell her that I got a new one requisitioned.

“Thankfully, the replacement finally arrived, but… Boy, I don't want to think about how terrifying it must have been for her before. There wasn’t anyone else here at first, and as soon as she comes back for the night, there's some strange alien in her home… It was enough to hide for a few days, I guess. Can't say I wouldn't do the same. I tried being friendly, obviously, and I was pretty worried that I made a bad impression, but I think she's just…hurt. I thought it was a me issue until I told her about the food. She just looked so surprised that I did something for her—and it was just a breakfast plate, nothing special. I didn’t even manage to do much since I wanted to avoid making her sick.”

Sunundra blinked, frowning at what seemed to be a conversation about…her? Were they so casual with their Goddess? If not, was he communicating with someone else?

“Of course, they ran me ragged today. I would have thought all the tests before were enough. Not for them, apparently. I stumbled back, expecting to keep looking up diets across the Union, but no, she was by my door. Turns out that she wanted to thank me for the food—which I was happy she liked—but her face… I've seen it a lot over the years. I know it's stupid to assume, but she looked so much better before I left. I thought the food was bad, or maybe there was an allergy no one told me about... I mentioned before how she was the first night, and it was basically that—like someone just told her that her parents passed or something. I started panicking like an idiot. I’m supposed to make a good impression, and all I could think about was accidentally screwing it up. Then I thought about back home, and…

“You would have screamed at me for being an idiot if you were there. Heh, I'm sure you would have yelled at me for a lot of things. I came back stinking to high hell, and I got too caught up trying to stick my own foot in my mouth to say anything actually helpful. The whole place smelled like…”

His voice quieted a bit, a sombre tone taking root.

“It reminded me of what you used to wear. I never did remember the name, but it was that vanilla cinnamon stuff your mother bought for you… You’d love her, I can say that much with confidence at least. And furry! I know you wouldn't be able to keep your hands off her, which just made it harder to say something normal, stupidly enough. She went ahead and got cleaned up while I was out, and… Well, I know you'd spend weeks making jokes about how I'd need to step up my game.”

Guilt flowed through the pale-furred female. It…wasn't a prayer, was it…

The answer to her unvoiced query came in the form of the same utterances being untranslated in one ear, the other finally placing meaning to the voice suffering crushing sorrow.

“I miss you…so, so much.”

And like that, silence resumed, the pale-furred female sitting on her bed with emotions waging war. Sleep did eventually find her, but not without questions lingering as well.

= = = = =

The High Quesitar leaned back in his chair, releasing the button and allowing Illia the break her paws required. His equipment all reported exactly as he would expect from a tale hewn from truth, which was why he scowled at the readouts so harshly.

Her cadence remained in line with standard deviations when accounting for the perceived emotional states, despite how minor the shifts in tone were. Her form was largely still, yet the slightest twitches and adjustments matched as well. Word choice and recollection speed was consistent with her records from the military and psyche profile—barring the overabundance of exuberance which had faded over time, though that had been accounted for. The only reading that bothered him was scent...

It was one of the main detriments to interrogating a defect—not that he had done so more than once before, yet it still remained a pain in his hide. The graph was perfectly flat, suggesting that the baseline acquired over her containment was mirrored throughout the retelling of events so far. Normally, such would be impossible, as the recording equipment was magnitudes more sensitive than even the strongest Lilhun olfactory, but the stagnant line stared at him regardless, unmoved and undisturbed. To be expected, yet aggravating all the same.

He was unable to even test if her claim of modification was true since the machines worked by sampling variance of various pheromones, then tracking the divergence as questioning progressed. Regulations and procedural codes forbid him from entering the room directly to confirm it, which removed that option for the time being. All he could do was stare at the STO’s pheromone production which had yet to shift even the slightest amount—a result that made his job needlessly more difficult.

He sighed, shaking his head when his assistant raised a brow in silent query of if he was well. “There is much to probe and ponder.”

Illia smiled sympathetically. “Then we are fortunate to have been paired.”

“Quite,” he huffed in amusement, grunting as he straightened his posture and reached for the intercom again. “Your words lead me to believe that your ‘cohabitant’ was of a species that even those of my station are unfamiliar with. ‘Human,’ was it?”

Dead eyes flickered in response. “Correct.”

“Why might their existence be revealed to you, but not our people as a whole?”

“I do not know,” she admitted. “There might be many reasons, but I would only be able to provide postulations—much the same as yourself.”

Heroon released the button long enough to knead his temple. “This ‘human’ remained unbothered by your condition for the duration of the ‘test?’”

“Yes.”

“And you had abandoned hope that a mate or otherwise would be found amongst your own?”

“I had.”

He grunted his acceptance of the firm answer, not oblivious to the somewhat disgruntled expression on his assistant’s face. “Your story implies that you had not given up on finding such entirely, however.”

The implied question was not lost on the contained STO. “There was much I held hope for, though I would be unable to claim if I had any specific intentions then.”

“Yet until this point, you have mentioned praying for such with stalwart regularity. This is the first time such was not specified.”

Life came to the voice of the grey and yellow-furred female—enough to be pegged as an abnormality on his monitoring software, but not enough to say what caused it. “There was no need.”

Illia and him shared a curious glance. “You believed the Hunt Mother abandoned you? You must have, assuming this was all she could provide.”

A smile—soft and warm, yet tinted with sadness—fully formed on her normally vacant muzzle. “You misunderstand, High Quesitar. The Mother had given her kit one which needed her as much as she needed him.”

“What might be offered by an alien?”

Her pupils constricted slightly as she shifted her gaze. “More than I was ever offered by kin…”