"Today?" I ask Altair, soon as he's awake.

Eyes fluttering open, he agrees, "Today."

"What?" Illuet asks from the corner, where she lies in her bandages.
"We're going out to do merchant things." I say, offering Altair a sly look, which he eagerly returns.

"Ah. I'll go... practice my lyta." Illuet says, levitating it up to her mouth. She blows it, making an awful, ear-screeching noise that turns every note known to Sentient ears into one singular wail of agony.

Altair flinches. "Again?"

"Yeth." Illuet says, lyta gripped in mouth. I can still see the areas where they had to clear the haemo sediment from her body. There are still sparkling bits of magic there, like the dusty coats of the Moonwalkers. It is unprecedentedly saddening.

"All day?" I ask. "Do they know when you'll be better?"

Illuet inhales through her nostrils.

"Stop." Altair says. "We'll leave you be... and we'll be back with a meal around lunch. Okay?"

Illuet casts him a snide glance over the side of her cushion. I even catch a little tail wag going. Lyta still gripped in her mouth, she says, "Hath fun."

"Illuet! Are you supporting our criminal activity?" I stagger back theatrically.

"Secondpaw crime." Altair agrees. "For shame. The ambiguous parent figures you refuse to tell us about would be very disappointed in you."

Illuet blows the lyta so hard that everyone in the city can hear it.

Altair and I get the message and venture out, properly loaded with our respective bags. I'm bowing beneath the weight of the trinkets bag alongside the Sorrow-filled burden of my herb bag.

"Why are you carrying the weapons, again?" I ask Altair.

"I'm a militant Fauna." he mutters. "Give me your teeth."

"Still hung up on that?"
His ears swing back. "I'm glad she at least pretended to be nice about it."

"Maybe Valora's legitimately trying?"

"I guess she could be." Altair sighs. "There are other Fauna in the city, apparently, so it has to be more inclusive than most. I... kind of want to meet them."

"Looking for a lady friend?"

Altair muses, "Whether 'she's' a Fauna or not has never been an issue before. For that matter, neither has if 'she' is a 'she' or not. The issue is that I'm not interested in anyone."

"Oh no, I figured that much. Otherwise you would have long ago fallen to my keen wit and devastating good looks."

Altair's ears slide so far back that they're in danger of coming clean off. "Awful."

The streets are bustling, and the stone and metal reflect back the sun's white wrath onto every surface. Plants broil in the endless sunshine, as do temporary stands, covered by tarps. The Sentients underneath look dismal. Only the food has any kind of pep, its odor brightening the day with more vigor than the sun, but few Sentients are eating.

"Should we be worried about Heaven's Jaw?" Altair asks.

I scan the crowds for traces of opalescent fabric. "They said we shouldn't be. It's not as if I'm going to go looking for them."

"And Defenders?"

I sigh. "Guess we could stick to the straight and narrow. Say what you mean, mean what you say..."

"I can't even begin to count the number of ways that could go wrong." Altair says, still craning his neck out and looking around. Bumping my side with the weapons bag, he asks, "How many feathers did we collect, exactly?"

"Six. Why?"

Altair pauses in front of a small, rickety building with scores of feathers across the front windows. While the exterior is stone in places, it looks as if the building has been built out of another building, so that it looks like the wooden front is being devoured by rock. It does not inspire confidence, especially when juxtaposed against every other far more dignified building in the town, but Altair is already inside.

"Fauna, eh?" says the Canis to the side of the counter, who holds a bag in her mouth, so loosely that it swings whenever her jaw moves and the thin strap barely impairs her speech. She reminds me of Ruby, since both have that tilted smirk that makes their every word sound unbearably smug, but species aside, her fur is a gray, downy color and her aura is this calming wave of white noise. Mix that with the dusty, warm room and you have me, struggling not to fall asleep. "Been a while since we got new Fauna. Would you mind telling me my future? I know it's taxing, but I..." she yawns. "Have certain prospects I'd like to check on."

Altair gives her a look and she quickly adds, "Never mind that. What's your business?"

Relieved, Altair nods and begins undoing the bag. I pull three feathers out of the side slot and lay them out across the table. "Hawk." I say. "Of otherworldly origin."
"Hawk," whispers another Canis, whose coloration is an equally muted periwinkle.

"Oh, no." the Canis says. "I know that look in your eye, Plume..."

"They're not Canira feathers, Kaze!" he declares, triumphantly.

There's no magical indicator on the table that would prove they had no Dreamlandian qualities. "How did you know?"

"Don't you dare get him started." warns Kaze.

Plume slams both of his paws on the table (and I tense, in respect to the dozens of times this very gesture has lead to an ambush). "For one thing, the coloration is strange... most Opphemrian fliers have colorful or opalescent wings, since there's no need to camouflage. They're conduits as much and often more than they are actual limbs. Brown coloration, sure, but only in certain dwarf breeds... and these feathers don't match any of those breeds. Either you've got incredible craftsmanship, in which case we'd eagerly take this on that virtue alone, or this truly is a feather from another dimension."

Kaze's mouth hums with strange, irritated noise. It is not a noise any living being could make, but it unmistakably hers. "Plume," she says, her voice raspy. "We can get feathers elsewhere. We live on a Defender base."

Curtly, I ask, "They don't bring in trinkets often, do they?"

All the hungry eyes in the store turn to me. I sense the spark lighting and press the feather a little further towards Plume. Biting his tongue, he draws it forwards and slides us a slip of paper, which is crossed by a few lines of in and punctuated by several dots.

My snout wrinkles, watching my treasure disappear, but Plume is shaking so quickly I am sure I've been giving something of value. "What's that?" I tap the paper.

He almost grabs it back. "An in-city thing for outsiders. Since you're not in the records, we don't have your balance... so this sheet signifies part of my balance that you'll be receiving-- a portion of y food and leisure budget owing to my rank, that is, plus whatever extra I'm awarded from exterior trades..."

I've never trusted slips. "Woah, woah. What is this sheet worth?"

"I wrote you up to buy half the salves store," Plume admits. "Here's hoping I'm not enlisted, because if I am, I'll be licking my own wounds clean."

"Don't be so dramatic. They'll fix you up," Kaze seethes, "And you are enlisted. Everyone is..." Her eyes are sharp, her pupils lingering on us even though she faces him. "At least, everyone in our city. I suppose you'll just take food and leave, won't you?"

"Given we have no other obligations, that would be the plan. Plume, do they have herbs in the salve store?" I ask.

"They deal in all medicines and run a side hustle with plants. Whatever you need, you'll be looking for it there." he says. "Please, Kaze, stop whistling like that. You know you need to save your strength..."

"So I don't go mad before I die on the battlefield? Oh, I hadn't thought about that. It's not as if I'd been organizing inventory by mouth to keep myself from facing the same fate as my siblings. It's not as if I hadn't been stalling on our applications to ensure we don't end up in more rigorous jobs. It's not as if I haven't been working all kinds of menial tasks so you can keep your hobby store up and running even though we're practically an ornament in times of war, and now, in the worst war we've ever had to face, they're looking through all the pretty superfluous things and plucking them out." The Canira finishes, her voice crescendoing into a wail. "I can't believe how much I have to hide from you just to keep you happy."

"Then don't hide anything." Plume whispers.

"I'm sorry," Altair says.

"You're a traveller. You don't get to be sorry," Kaze says.

And they choose their own fates. There's no reason to be sorry.

Forgiveness lies on the edge of my tongue, empowered by sheer spite (shut up, Cass, shut up, shut up, shut up). Still, I'm thirsting for the usual kind of vindication and this is the opposite of that. I am being tied down just by standing into this room and raising my head as sentimentality gushes all around us, coming up to our stomachs.

Altair says, "Keep the inventory. We settle on a lower rate... in haemo."

Plume looks to his companion. "Kaze?"

She drops her bag and walks into the back. She walks out, tail slashing, and silver, fog-filled crystals fall onto the counter. Nebulous energy turns inside of them.

"That's some real patronage," I say, taking it.

Plume nods.

"I love beautiful things too, Plume." she swears, "Even though they're killing us."

"Dramatic," Plume says, nudging her neck. I hear a high sound from Kaze's direction, but this one is soft and comes from her throat instead of the split air around her. Plume sighs, "Good-day, travellers."

"And tell your firefly friend to stop showing off before she blinks out," she warns. My hackles raise, and before I know it I've stormed out of the shop.

I hear Altair behind me, voice muffled by glass, but I continue walking, accelerating into a brisk pace. When he bounds forwards into my pace, looking guilty, I only need say, "This isn't a town for us," and he knows. His ears tilt imploringly, but he doesn't push the question any further.

Our old life hangs before me, to the road, which I can almost see around the perfectly arrayed buildings. I swing to the left instead and order us food, haggling down prices and waving around our generous 'balance' slip. Altair is still searching the crowds for something. We return to the confining stone, where at least we are bound into some kind of family instead of two... three dissonant entities. Illuet perks as we enter, her tail rising but not waving, and she pretends she hasn't intentionally oriented herself towards the door.

"Lunch is on us." I offer, setting down our twin meals of kaanin leg before her.

"Who'd you swindle?"

"No one," I say.

We have a quiet lunch together, speaking only in eye contact and concerned chewing noises. The meat is fresh, which is enough to make even the best jerky taste like a shrivelled twig, but even unseasoned the raw flavor of this particular meat is tremendous. I hadn't had kaanin in so long that I had forgotten the taste of nuts and sweet blood. Altair knocks the bottom of his salad bowl and stands, clicking his hoof against the ground. "I'm going to graze. I'll meet you in the plaza."

"I could--" I offer.

Altair, tail tucked. Altair, head down. Altair, prey, me, predator, I have sharp teeth and am made of sharp points and hurt and stars, everything is on fire again. I exhale. The three of us do, silence tense as the unnatural keening from Kaze's aura (why oh why does it sound like longing?) and I want to believe that they're thinking about the same catastrophe I am, and I want to protect them from it, but all I can do right now is spare a friend of mine a little dignity and I don't want to just because I'm lonely.

Altair says, "I'll be right back," and exits.

Illuet's light dissipates as she moves the lyta upwards. It's a small act, so the energy intake it requires is its own kind of shock, but when it trembles and I catch bright patches among her fur I can begin to understand.

"You alright?" she asks.

"We watched someone die a few days ago," I say.

"I grieved for the first day, but a lot of it was just me being upset about how hard it is to hold the same level of shock." Illuet says. "That must shake you too, doesn't it?"

I do not answer her. My tongue strikes a tooth which strikes yesterday's wound.

Illuet lowers her lyta. "I just scared the fur off of you, didn't I. On a less awkward train of thought, can you meet me by the tavern later?" she asks. "By you, I mean the joint you, so Altair and you, but I was guessing... look. Sundown. Tavern. I have a bad idea."

"Compelling," I croak, readjusting my steely mask of confidence. "Thanks for thinking of us. I know it's hard to be complicit in bad ideas alone."

"I'm considering the lunch a grant. You care for me, I care for you. Come to the tavern and revel in some terrible ideas." she spreads her paws out, readjusting her instrument. "You know the ones."

I nod. She blows the lyta, tilting her mouth just so, and plays a single clear note. Her eyes close as she does it, her whole body quivering, and her light organizes itself, taking on new form. She pauses, tasting the air. "Hawk, you're free to go."

My mind is greedy with the thought of magic. "Could I try?"

She shakes her head.

I nod. "So it's personal. Apologies, I--"

"No. It's a Canis instrument," she explains. "You compress the space around the tube and your mouth, and only the one tube receives air. Most of the movement I do is theatrical, since the real magic is invisible."

"Shoot." Instruments, as another 'art', are far out of Altair and I's range. Merchant stuffs. Unsuitable for survival or even to sate our curiosity. Now I'm begging to take it from the chain around her neck.

Illuet continues, "Eudicans made the lyta on their old planet, before the first star brought all Sentients together from across the multiverse. Isn't that incredible? A breed of Canis on some distant world discovered they could change the universe around them and their first thought was music."

I have many stories, half-remembered, about my ancestors and their feats, but I must confess that none of them belong to me. I nod, catching the first enticing note of another song, but my mind has moved on to another kind of shared ancestry. "See you tonight," I say, and I bound off after Altair.

The Fauna is circling the perimeter of the stone plaza when I find him, neck still craned out and eyes wide with distress. When he bumps into me, absentmindedly, we fall into a pile of spindly limbs, tawny bags, and general unease. "Hawk! I--"

"I've got plans. Let's roll," I say.

Altair fumes beneath his breath, halfheartedly. We stalk through the streets like twin shadows, despite our mismatch in size and gait. The air is a dizzying mix of receding scents as the lunch rush draws to a close, the increasingly familiar scent of the town's denizens, and in the distance, the slightest trickle (blood in the water) of what we're looking for.

With good sibling vigor, I kick one of Altair's good legs towards a dark alley and he almost buckles. We look down one of the less favorable packages together, eyeing a small store, and I grin up at him.

"Stop doing that," Altair responds, still vacant. The morning's tumult stares back through his wide eyes.

"Let's try to have fun, shan't we?" I ask.

"Oh yes. Fun. It's a little less fun when we know who's facing the consequences, isn't it?"

"When did we start developing morals?" I ask. "What's it to you? How many Sentients have you bled dry, like the ruthless predator you are?"

Altair's chest puffs a bit, and he pushes his antler upright with a tilt of his head. Despite the pride in his eyes, he says coolly,"We started being hypocrites when we explicitly detailed our moral code."

I bound after him as he leads us down the alleys of the city. "Doesn't said code say something about not pitying your victims?"

"Seventy-seven." Altair knocks the shop doors open with his head, causing the entry bell (fancy place, for one so far back) to tinkle brightly. Inside is a sizeable host, all of whom are watching us with curled-jowl indignance. A dragon curls in the corner, likely just small enough for the doors, and a few other assorted Sentients watch us as if we are carrying a plague. The room smells like a thick fog, but its too herbal to be the nightmare smoke I associate with Cinnabar.

I dispense the haemo across the table, making a deal of how it clatters, and say, "Your basics, please."

"Kaze, you moron," groans a dark Canira.

"We have a few hundred poultices in the back of the room if you want those." offers another Canira. "All we really use for the Defenders, as it were, are enhancements... the healers take them and supercharge anything herbs could do with their own powers. We can set you up with some basic packs too, since we do bundles..."

That is exactly the wrong way to use a downplay when negotiating. They're atrocious merchants and they'd be worse cons.

"We'll take poultices." I offer. "We're looking for enough green material to fill a bag. I think what you've listed should be about fair."

The Canira begins shoveling half of their inventory onto the table. Altair sniffs through the bushels, picking and choosing, and I leave the bag wide open. Relief passes between us-- we get to gain inventory, and Altair gets to take a bunch of garbage off someone's paws.

"Someone close to you sick, eh?" the dragon smirks as the inventory continues to enter the bag. "Or are you just here to blow the wealth Kaze and her idiot mate forked you?"

"Everyone we meet on the road is close to us, held by a mutual bond of wanderlust. I only hope I am never stuck in a position, medical or otherwise, where I am incapable of serving my brothers and sisters." I declare. Furthermore, my medical bag is empty, and I need leaves to cover the Sorrows at the bottom.

The dragon exhales a thick torrent of smoke. It is mixed with a bitter herbal smell, which chokes out the entire room. "Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night. It must be so taxing to be misunderstood altruists who only wish to perch in the branches of well-stocked cities, just a couple of caterpillars with the well-meaning intention of eating everything living out of their homes and bleeding us all dry."

"That's enough," Altair says. "We made a trade with you, you accepted it, and we just gave you high-value haemo in return for decaying herbs you're not using. This whole room smells like low-grade ambrosia, and I'm sure Valora would agree with me when I say that sitting in the back of town, bringing a bad name to Garuda City and consuming psychoactives during the middle of a war, is truly nothing to get on a ledge and crow about. Of course, if you'd like to contest this with her yourselves, you're free to come with me and we'll talk it out."

The first Canira flicks the rest of the herbs into our bag. The dragon's tail lashes against the ground. We exit, Altair's head held high. "Toughfoot," someone says on the way out, and the door slams closed.

"We're lucky Illuet didn't see our awful 'merchant business'," I crow as we round the corner, bashing Altair in the side. "She'd be so disappointed in us."

"Admittedly? She makes me feel bad about this. When we actually do it, I mean... I don't know if I'll be able to do something really ruthless knowing that she's judging us both. " Altair says, looking far from miserable as he could physically be. His face falls slightly. "She stares at you."

"She's jealous." I mutter. "Well, she's free to have my body--"

"In what way?"

"--if she wants to be bereft of magic so badly." I finish. Altair is still snickering, so I loudly add, "I was inferring we could switch positions, hypothetically."

"I know what you were inferring." he says. "I'm merely pointing out certain implications of your choice of words."

I frown.

"Losing your edge," Altair offers.

"Cut that out." I snap.

We dicker through the streets a little longer, letting the day pass over us. We learn where the bones are hidden (beneath the rafters) and where they keep the armor, where most of the Sentients in the town hang out and we almost catch a few more glimpses of Fauna, but Altair can never track them down. When the sun begins to set, we walk over to the local bar, which is a dark, gaunt color on the outside and equally dark and gaunt on the inside. It is one of the few wooden buildings in the town, situated on the edge of a small (rigid, planned) grove, but even the lighting can't brighten the coolness of its residents. Most of the Sentients are wearing armor, much of which is tarnished or dented, and they flicker with erratic magic. In some places, bone grows through the mouth in unusual ways or the magic has pooled about them, condensing around wounds. The food on the tables, fresh as it is, is served in small rations.

Illuet enters the room, strides directly up to the closest thing to a raised platform they have, and plays a shrill note on the lyta. The crowd shakes it off like water. A few mouths raise from their bowls. Altair and I stand in the corner, at one of the tables. I signal the waiter-- I'm going to need another drink for this.

Voice trembling but raising nonetheless, tail high, she announces, "My name is Illuet. I'm an outsider, but I'd like to play for you tonight."

Scornful eyes rise upwards, surveying tassels and light with their white teeth grit.

Illuet begins to play.

At first, it is not unlike this morning's song, slow and rambling, but then Illuet slides the lyta across and the fur of everyone in the bar stands on end at once. Suddenly, the notes are blurring together and playing off each other. Illuet is playing as if she contains the four winds worth of air in her body. The song, unceasing, is jubilant as it is violent, each piercing verse adding more to the illusion. It is the sound of flying, of running across great swathes of land, and when it cools to little more than a whisper, every member of the audience is leaning so far forwards they are almost tipping their tables. Their individual pains fade into a singular need, all of them so transfixed that even their drinks remain untouched. "Well, what are you waiting for? Give me a beat!" Illuet yells.

Someone throws the windows open and from there, other members of the town start to move in. The ground thrums with noise, paws, talons, and hooves slamming the ground, and the aura in the room is overwhelmed by light. It reflects off the eyes and coats, illuminating, curing, and still Illuet plays louder and faster. Altair is gone from my side, and I see him next to a Fauna. My ears fall, but I can feel the music demanding my attention back.

"I need some vocals," Illuet announces to the audience. her eyes fall on mine, glimmering.

I shake my head vigorously, stepping back as fast as I can manage, but she knows she has me. I feel the telekinetic grip of dozens of Canii dragging me forwards, their barks rising with those of every other Sentient in the room into one dissonant bellow from which I can discern no words. I dig my claws into the wood, more out of instinctive fear than any conscious reaction, and I am dragged by the scruff onto the stage.

I whisper into her ear, our voices drowned out by the crowds, "Illuet, remember what you said about you not conning? That might be how I feel about not singing."

Her eyes are two angry stars. "Follow my lead."

O the falling sun, she leads.

I've managed to miss the first verse, but I follow, "Oh, the falling sun..."

The queen upon her bed

the pains of centuries past

weigh heavy on her head

The verse grows natural, each word electric on my tongue. Anyone in this world can recite prophecy, and old rhymes like these are its closest cousin. All I have to do is inherit its magic. Following her into the second verse, her high tones layering over mine, we finish,

and o the rising star

new coming with the dawn

her eyes' shine brought to light

and thus the day goes on.

"Again," calls someone in the audience.

Illuet raises her lyta, and I feel my mouth move, but I can not hear whatever comes from it. "And thus the day goes on--" Altair's copper pelt flashes from the crowd, the light holding me back from him, suffocating me. I can sense its grip around my neck and on the edge of my poor peripheral vision is something familiar. Someone who shouldn't be there. A cruel smirk, a seed rolled underpaw, noise and light, and when the second verse finishes again I can hear every note ringing in my ears.

"I think that's enough singing." I say, practically staggering off the stage. Altair catches me, looking at my bedraggled form with a pitying kindness (I tense up).

"Should we move onto cider, then?" Altair suggests, glancing slyly towards the bar. While the mere idea of intoxicating myself out of my growing anxiety is enticing, I'm obliged to pass. I give him a stiff nod, the noise in my head rising, and I dash towards the exit. The air is colder by comparison, and the lack of light and noise makes it feel even colder. I have been submerged in the black waters of the night and I welcome it like I welcome it after a con.

How little it takes to make me flee now.

Losing my edge. Losing my edge. Losing my edge.

My heart pangs for Altair, waiting inside, but being anywhere right now is making me sick. Being with anyone is worse. I stalk the streets, suddenly aware of my condition and how easy it would be to jump me. Why am I here?

You wish not be a sheep. The only logical following step is to wander off from the fold.

"I don't--" I say, but this, too, dies out on my tongue. Closing my mouth, I stalk the streets and retreat towards the edge, the white moon sheen of guard's armor greeting me just before freedom. I move back on quiet paws, retreating towards the nearest trees, and breathe. The moons, side by side in the sky, stare at me like mismatched eyes. They are pale reflections of our sun, the lights of vagabonds and the damned, and they are a momentary comfort.

I tilt my head upwards. You could have all of that light.

Leaves crunch underpaw. My ears turn before I do, alert, and with my tail tucked I look into Illuet's eyes. Her aura has receded to a soft glow, but even this is enough to trace itself into the lowered recesses of the bark of surrounding trees.

"What's the issue?" I ask.

"It's practically over, but Hawk, they're all talking! Guards, merchants, Valora, some shady folk I didn't talk too... it's so much, and I wasn't really part of it anymore, so I figured I could leave." She smiles, looking up at the stars. "I needed a break."

"You look depleted." I note.

"It's a lot of light," she says. "It stirs something in others. I'm not entirely sure what it is, but I do know that it's magic."

I nod, eyes flicking about the trees. "Where's Altair?"

"He's inside. I asked where you went, then he told me you ran off. He told me I should come out here and deal with you myself." She pauses. "Sorry for dragging you up on stage."

"Don't do that again."

"I get carried away sometimes. When I'm up there. The lure of the music is irresistible-"

"Please, please stop." I say, my fur uncatching from her side. I can feel the little energy in me like a thousand telekinetic grips, all of them reaching out not for her but her light, and the further I get the more I feel I'm drowning in it. The connection, the sheer passion in her voice makes it so much worse.

"It's also a fairly ample distraction," she admits.

"Distraction," I say. Something is being choked out of me, but it's not Cassiver who wants this. Tentatively, I ask, "Do you know who your heartlines are?"
"No one does," she says.

"But do you?" I press.

She sighs. "I've heard bits and pieces of them my whole life. They're louder now, which is worse because... I'm the opposite of everything they need and want me to be."

"Not me," I say. "I'm just like mine."

"But you said you were... I mean, there's no aura around you." Illuet says.

"The Dog Days still do weird things to Forhaga. No one gets out of it unscathed." I offer, trying to withhold the bitter edge of my voice, tooth scraping tongue a second too late to stop me. "No one except for you."

Illuet's eyes alight, taken aback. "You really think of me that way."

"Everyone in the world does, don't they? Untouchable."

"No one is untouchable." Illuet says. "And I wanted what you had. Invisibility. The bond you have with Altair. Your tongue, the way your better cons sound like quicksilver over the tongue. Invisibility! I figured my moral contempt would be enough to hide how much you upset me, but well... oh, Verhamera, I'm gushing again. This is ridiculous."

"Do you not usually?"
"I haven't talked with anyone in all seriousness before I met you two... for close to a year. I'm civil. Bright. I do what they want and they stare at me like I'm the soul of the world, when all along, I'm hardly even living. I just blink in and out of existence. You're there. Then you're gone."

I close my eyes. "You really are a firefly, aren't you?"

"Firefly? Where did that come from?" she asks, searching the air about us with a teasing smile. If there are any lightning bugs out tonight, they are silent in respect towards a greater, more brilliant light.

"Someone called you that earlier. I think it was supposed to be an insult, but it was a poor one." I ask. "I think they think you're going to run out of magic and start going feral like their Defenders are."

"Feral." Illuet's eyes are wide, trembling with her own light. "Let's... not think about this tonight. Do they have any nicknames for you?"

"Whitetongue, according to a few Felis over in Yaan. Not that I plan to go back there anytime soon..." She gives me a disappointed stare, and I tease, "If you want to get really personal, close friends call me insufferable bastard."

"Now that suits you."

"Thanks." I say. Ears falling back to my sides, I say, "Now we never have to refer to each other by name again."

"Oh?" she asks.

"I was getting sick of mine. It sounds like someone choking on something. Worse, that's the only reasonable explanation for anyone who's never even heard of some obscure offworld bird, so whenever I introduce myself to someone, they pronounce my name wrong. Offensively wrong. I have to ask everyone, 'Hey, are you coughing your brains out, or are you just happy to see me?'"

Illuet chirrups. It's an innately Canira noise, but it doesn't sound imitated when she does it.

"It wasn't that funny."

The noise grows back into that Canis cackle, throatier than before, and keeps going.

"Really. Not funny." I say, nervously looking around the clearing to ensure we're still alone.

"You sound so familiar," she says, getting to her paws. Sadness teams in her eyes as she adjusts her ribbons, tying them so taut that the light is all but gone from her. "It's unfair."