The girl took a few unsteady steps forward, then looked around as she felt something wrap around her. After a moment, she felt herself cradled, and Rare settled Miles' arms without protest and closed her eyes. Every part of her felt heavy, felt ready to sleep, but she forced her eyes to remain open, though she kept her face turned toward Miles, forehead rested against him as the girl did her best to avoid clanking her horns against the soldier.

The man shivered as he placed her onto a seat, and she sank into a soft cushion. The vehicle rumbled, and she felt her head tumble forward as the hand on her shoulder offered her comfort while she could not see clearly. Brown eyes drifted shut, only to open as she felt the stop. Her head lifted and looked around, but her eyes still saw only blurs of light and dark as she followed him out on arrival, accepting his assistance without question.

He came to a stop. Rare looked toward him, though her gaze didn't quite center on him. Her dilated pupils didn't quite center as they sought something to connect with. For a brief moment, her pupils constricted visibly as her vision cleared just enough so she could look at him directly.

He said they were to part ways, and her expression fell. Miles' reassurances elicited a nod before she finally lifted her right hand to her lips, then let it drop towards him: not unlike blowing a kiss. She forced a smile, despite her fear, in an attempt to reassure him that she would be alright, though she could smell his worry.

A moment passed, and then she stepped toward him suddenly and wrapped her arms around his waist before she pulled back and turned from him to look around, to find where she needed to go, but if there were signs, she couldn't read them, and even when she squinted, her vision remained dark and blurry.
 
This was it. After this point, Miles would be separated from Rare and though they barely spent any time together, he was not sure he could bring himself to such a thing. She was just a mere child. Who knew what sort of issues she would be facing? Apparently, she had also developed a connection to him, because the preteen ended their relationship with a tight-feeling hug. But as guilty as the soldier would feel for abanonding someone like this, he knew this was for the better. Her parents would be found soon, her identity recovered, then she would go on to live a happy life. She would need some sort of therapy of course after the events of today, yet Miles had faith in her.

"Good bye," he told her as he disappeared and soon, a heavy hand fell onto the child's shoulder. It smelled of disinfectant, vigorous cleaning and various sorts of medicine, mainly used to treat injuries. Some of the scents, however, were absolutely unfamiliar to Rare, with many of them being some sort of a bitter mixture. Like a pill she would have to swallow. Or worse.

"All right, let's get you checked out," said a low, old voice. He was at least in his fifties, if not later and his emotions were much harder to read than Miles. He was used to hiding the truth from his patients. "Don't worry, I understand sign language. Can you walk and come with me?" Of course, this was mostly a question made of politeness. The doctor could see the faint signs of exhaustion in Rare's posture, but he chose not to mention them. He would rather his patient feel comfortable at least a little bit, especially with all the military around.
 
Rare held firmly still as she listened to Miles leave, though she wanted to chase after him, simply because he was safe. He had protected her without question, and now, she had no doubt she would never see him again, and that he would never know that she had thanked him, that she felt safe when she was with him, but reality and time caught her, and she smelled someone approach long before his hand rested on her shoulder.

She looked up slowly, eyes unfocused as she tried to make the man out. She could smell his age, smell his medicine, smell the stink of medical care: the dead and dying, the blood, the disease. No matter how one washed, the scents remained, soaked into the flesh deeper than soap could wash.

Caught off-guard by the strength of his doctoral reek, her nose wrinkled, and she rubbed at it before she caught herself and quickly put her arm down, then nodded. His emotional scents were fainter than Miles. Harder to read, and harder to trust. This was a man who was accustomed to lies, as most doctors were.

As a liar must meet a liar, Rare offered a tiny, uncertain smile, and nodded, though her head felt too heavy for her neck. Awkwardly, she looked around, trying to see where he might want to lead her, but without him making the first step, she couldn't tell. She edged one foot into one direction, then paused and removed her remaining shoe to carry it, so she wouldn't tumble. Her hands gripped the formerly-shiny heeled accessory tightly, deforming the semi-flexible outer shell as she looked around again, then toward where she remembered the man's voice came from.

Without any idea why her shoe seemed suddenly so important, she lifted it as she looked at the man with an exaggerated questioning expression.
 
Good! At least he would not have to carry her around. Dirty or not, he could still very much take her vitals as well as her various details that made sure she was as all right as she could be given her condition. She was likely tired, dirty, slightly burnt and still in shell-shock judging by the lack of emotional outbursts on her part. She did not seem to be grieving for anyone or perhaps she was just going along with everything as a way to cope with everything that must have happened today. First things, first though, there was something that the doctor needed to get out of the way.

"I'm Yiskal Kervesnk," he introduced himself with a touch of forced friendliness in his voice. Most children would not be able to pick up on it, but then again, Rare was not amongst them. "And you? This way, by the way," he said as he prepared to bring up the local database and see where she belonged to. Then, he could hand her to whoever left her alone in the middle of Kalrina or more likely, charge them with criminal neglect. Judging by his experience, placing the girl into state care would be probably the more humane thing to do, because then she would end up with parents who actually gave a damn about her. Ultimately, it all came up to the circumstances. If the preteen had been swept away by a crowd and the parents did not realise, there may be hope.

Or there may be more despair if death ruled supreme.
 
The cheer in the man's voice rang hollow in the face of her keen nose. Here brows shifted slightly upward as she listened to the man ask her name and indicate direction. She turned toward the direction she thought he indicated, though the man didn't move. Was he waiting for her to answer before moving forward? Impatient to be clean and to sleep, Rare took a deep breath, as though about to speak, but instead let the breath out.

Slowly, she began to sign, beginning with her introduction. She tapped her chest with her right, open hand, fingers held together. Next, she held both hands at chest level with only the first two fingers extended horizontally on each, and tapped those fingers against each other, right onto left. Finally, she spelled her name: R-A-R-E and after a pause, she offered her name sign: an 'L', but instead of holding it still, she rubbed her thumb against her nose. The movement was reminiscent of the sign for 'doll', but with an L instead of the Q handshape commonly used.

She offered no last name to the man, as though the thought never occurred to her.
 
Rare? No last name? Yiskal found that extremely peculiar. It was probably a side-effect of catatonia as well as the sheer amount of dirt on her and a simple name like that suited him just fine. He did not care too much in particular. He just wanted to make sure that everything was all right with her, do a good job if that was not the case and then send her off to get cleaned before she was given back to her caretakers or to the state. It was not that he hated children, but he did have countless people to tend to before the crisis was over. Efficiency thus overruled any sense of personal connection that he could have or should have developed with the people who visited him.

"This way, Rare," he said as he gently pulled her in the direction his office was along with all the machines. It was honestly not a long walk, but what followed was something she would likely not forget.The place itself was mostly the usual: white, clean and lacking any decorations. There were only a few machines that Rare would not recognise, but the tools themselves did not change for the most part. It was the process itself that was unkind to her. She was ran through about just every single test from drawing blood through her vision and up to something unpleasant that she did not even know about. All with a disregard for her personal space. The whole examination process was focused on efficiency like a laser beam.

There was not much time to rest afterwards either. Just a couple of moments after the exhausting tests were done, she was lifted by strong hands and then taken to the showers to clean herself off. She was given a special soap along with a sponge and was told to scrub herself off as harshly as possible. At least whoever the soldiers were, they had a measure of respect for her privacy and brought her a fresh set of clothes. It would not fit her too well of course and it was far more plain than the set she had worn, but they were not torn or horribly mangled at least.
 
Obediently, Rare followed the man. Stress stank from his core, but he still remained patient with her as he led the way to his office. Inside, she looked around, but had little time to ponder the strange devices. The doctor took blood, she tried to read a chart, and still more invasive tests followed. She allowed it. It was all she could do, for now.

When he finally released her, it was only to find herself carried to the showers by someone. She couldn't see who, but exhaustion overrode her need to try and identify them by scent.

A shower and instructions followed in what felt like a blur. She scrubbed until her skin reddened, every inch of her body, and then discarded the soap, rinsed it thoroughly from her hands, and began to rinse her long, long hair. Black strands came out onto her hands, a couple at a time, and she picked them from between her fingers before she continued with her thorough rinsing.

It was her tiny act of defiance, not using the harsh soap on her hair. Her hair, in her mind, was her best feature, save the 'bald spots' on either side of her head where her hair would not cover: those hidden horns still had mass.

Her shower took a very long time, before she finally finished, wiped herself dry on what was available, and carefully wrung her hair dry before she donned the new, clean clothes.

Far too large. The top hung from one pale shoulder, and her hand held the pants about her waist. Refreshed by cleanliness, but still exhausted, Rare barely had the energy to keep her head upright.
 
There was nothing much left to do after that. Though the soldiers had been given the order to have Rare go back into the shelter on her own legs, they could see that she was barely standing on her legs, so one of them just picked her up again, then tucked her into one of the empty child-sized beds. Her parents have not been identifeid yet of course, but it did not look like the poor thing could as much as lift a finger especially seeing how quickly she fell asleep after the blanket had been pulled up to her shoulders. There was something very odd about her, however. While the soldier who placed her there wrote off the odd crease in the pillow as a coincidence and forgot about it moments later, it might have served the best interests of the Intergalactic Human Republic as a whole to make a report of it. Because as it turned out, that was not the only strange thing about Rare...



Several hours later, while Rare was still asleep, brigadier Faulkner was staring at the report currently in front of him. It contained a certain child's medical information and it was absolutely fucking nuts despite the fact that Yiskal had assured him several times about its accuracy. The old doctor said he had done the tests several times, only to come up with the same results within an acceptable margin of error, which meant that he basically got exactly the same ones every single time. He also expressed his desire to perform some more tests on the child, but Faulkner had denied him before he could even open his mouth. The brigadier, as much as he was freaked out by the information in front of him, would not consent to the violation of a child's rights.

"So basically," said Faulkner as he lifted his gaze brown from the holographic letters in front of him, "She has no genetic relation to any families within the shelter. That was to be expected. But if I understand this correctly, she also has no traces of the Virus in her blood." Never before had the bald man felt himself to be this stressed. Even when the planet was under attack by the taelrikon, he felt as if he had been in a better position. At least there was a chance of rescue back then, but now? It was certain that this child was an anomaly they could not identify.

"She doesn't even have atlantian markers," confirmed Yiskal. In response, Faulkner suppressed a sigh.

"And we have the exycoran investigating every shelter for some sort of psionic interference that almost made her lose the battle above. This can not be a coincidence." Or could it be? The alternative, that someone was willing to subject a child to excessive genetic manipulation and then shield her from the influence of the Virus as some sort of a sick experiment, was sickening and unlikely. Or at least that is what Faulkner liked to think, but it was hard to deny that there were some really twisted people out there who would do everything in the name of science. It honestly made him feel dizzy, or maybe that was just the sheer weight of the situation settling into his shoulders.

"I'm not an expert on psychics," commented Yiskal, even though it was not necessary. Both men were quite tense given that the situation at hand could be interpreted in a number of ways. At first, they had been somewhat relieved that they managed to save a child along with a soldier from the Kalrina shelter, but then the results came in and now... Now everything was turned upside-down, then rattled in the belly of a washing machine for a while before it was put in front of a shit-stained fan. A girl with unknown origins could only mean trouble, unnecessary attention, some sort of a plan in the background or at worst, a catastrophe in the making. Faulkner had been in the army long enough to hear about nefarious tactics performed by atlantians in the great war. This was very similar to one of them.

But Rare was much too human to be a part of their machinations. For starters, she spoke English instead of Neo-Latin, she could vocalise and yet she would not speak, not to mention that she had somehow learned sign language. She had a slight dialect to it according to Yiskal, but it was only a bit more noticeable than standard colony deviation. There was also very little evidence of her carrying some sort of a biological weapon in her blood, but then again, the tests suggested she was not from this planet despite her turning up here. And there was no record of someone like her ever arriving here! So what the hell was the army dealing with right now?

"And I am not an expert on atlantians, but she is human and not human at the same time," declared Faulkner as he rhytmically knocked his fingers on the table in front of him. "If I was paranoid, I'd say that the taelrikon started their own experiments." These words were spat out of the man's mouth as if they had been venom or a foul-tasting food. The old doctor did not seem to be so bothered by this concept and merely gave a stoic nod to the other man. In turn, the brigadier gave him a strict look, which was followed up by a question. "What do you think?"

"Unlikely. They're an alien species."
"So?"
"They don't even breathe the same air as we do." But of course. That was always the answer, was it not? But it was also the most likely scenario that the brigadier could conjure in his mind. Everything else was either too far-fetched or too simple for his liking and he did not buy the line that not every pregnancy passed on Viral traces. Even so, there had to be at least something in her blood, because she could not live without being exposed to it.

"Not a valid answer," declared Faulkner, not that he had any other counterpoints than the taelrikon being much more advanced than they were. And that the aliens could not speak the human language... Which was actually a point in favour of Yiskal now that he thought of it. So what the hell was the military dealing with? He could not answer that question, not even if the existence of every single human depended on it.




Waking up in a shelter was unpleasant at best. The air was filled with the scent of sweat, blood, salty tears and fear. The latter was slowly easing away as the reports of victory reached the various civilians inside, however, the doors had yet to be opened once again. The aliens may have been beaten in space, yet there was no guarantee that they did not leave behind any nasty surprises that could kill a thousand citizens or ten. Therefore, everyone was still trapped between thick walls of reinforced concrete which sometimes echoed the silent and hopeful whispers of people around Rare. It was hard to catch what exactly people were talking about around her, but many of them seemed to be cautiously optimistic about the future in front of them. They must not have seen the destruction above the ground.

Regardless, there were many people around her. There was a family of four huddled closely together to the left, two men speaking to the right, a lone woman sitting at a wall towards the front and a single woman surrounded by two nurses towards the back. These were the closest to her, but there was also a homeless-looking person with shifty eyes along with a rather large, unkempt beard, a younger man in an extremely dirty suit and that was just the start. It did not seem like the military discriminated with whom they moved into the shelter as they were on constant watch. Soldiers were standing at the walls with roughly the same distance between them, not to mention there were a couple of patrols giving out supplies. Order was paramount; rebellion or disturbing the peace would not be tolerated.[/hr]
 
Rare's eyes opened the moment she woke, and she looked around from where she laid, unmoving for several moments before she slowly lifted herself, then turned to sit on the edge of the bed. When had she gotten here? This wasn't headquarters: she'd never been here before, and worse, her vision was almost too blurry to make anything out.

It definitely wasn't the Pink Room, and her clothes felt strange.

The girl looked down, brows furrowed for several moments as she tried to understand what she was looking at through the vague shapes and colors. Her eyes suddenly widened, and she lifted her head, looking around with panicked brown eyes as everything came back all at once. She backed up into her bed and hugged herself as she looked around. Her mental shield dropped briefly before she collected herself enough to bring it back up. She'd never encountered mind-readers before, but here, in a strange place, without a weapon or her jacket, it was the only thing she had other than magic to protect herself. She hugged herself more tightly, and a small whimper escaped.

Those with the ability nearby likely felt her intense phobic response that brought bile into her throat.

She continued to hug herself as the scents of fear, tears, blood, and sweat tingled at her nose, taunting her as she trembled. How many others were here? Were they going to die? It was her duty as a Hunter to protect them, but all she could do was smell them and listen to them as they whispered their bits of hope to each other.

Rather than stay in the open, Rare brought her blanket about her shoulders and ducked her head downward, trying to make herself small, but unable to cover her head without making her horns obvious.

She wanted to hide under the bed, but instead kept very still. She wanted someone to comfort her, to pet and brush her hair, to say reassuring things in a calm voice with a calm scent, but she didn't have the courage to ask it of anyone, and besides that, who was she to make requests?

Despite her thoughts, her stomach snarled, shockingly loud from someone so small, but no different than any other hungry child.

The girl didn't even want food, though, even if her body did. She wanted to lay down again and forget where she was, just to sleep until she couldn't wake up anymore, and then maybe she could forget the smell that still teased at her...

His name, as well. Staff Sergeant Miles Connor. He'd not introduced herself, nor she herself, but right now she wished he was there, even if he was a liar, at least he was a very caring liar, and right now, someone familiar, even only briefly, would have been nice.

Without any of the comfort, the girl tried harder to make herself as small as she could as tears fell, and she quietly sniffled.
 
The loud growl of Rare's stomach almost had the effect of a bomb going off. People around her stopped talking all of a sudden and she earned several sympathetic looks before conversation resumed. But this time, it was going into a certain direction. She could pick up soft murmurs of 'poor child' and 'hungry' before a consensus quickly arose around her, pointing at the lone woman in front of her. She seemed like to be one of the more harrowed victims of the orbital bombardment with several bandages on her, not to mention her clothes screamed 'I did not choose this!', however, she took her assigned role without much of a complaint. She stood up, then she went to one of the soldiers and initiated a short conversation before she disappeared amongst the countless rows of people.

About ten minutes later, the woman returned with a platter of simple, warm food. It consisted of some sort of weird soup and a dish that Rare could not even begin to identify. Both of them were very plain, yet they managed to smell nice. Especially to a girl who had not eaten in a long time and towards whom they were headed at a steady place. Almost silently, the woman placed the foodstuffs in front of her.

"You should eat," she told Rare in a soft voice, then she watched the girl's reaction. She did not know if the tears were because she was so hungry or perhaps because the girl had lost her family, but she was prepared to handle both situations. Or at least so she thought.
 
Quiet followed the sound of her stomach, and Rare lifted her gaze to stare in horror as all attention turned to her. With her sensitive ears, she heard every comment and whisper. Her ears reddened along the outer curve, and the pinkness worked itself slowly inward as she tried to hide her face behind blanket-covered hands.

The sounds of approaching feet and scent of nearing food brought her embarrassed gaze out from behind the blanket. Brown eyes locked onto the food, then drifted upward toward the woman.

The woman, clearly injured, offered the food and urged her to eat. Rare sniffed, then nodded. The meal offered was hardly enough, but more important than the food was a display of caring, and Rare felt... less alone.

Her pale throat visibly tightened, and she nodded, then bit both lips into a line before she sighed 'thank you' with a forced smile, then paused and signed more, only to pause and instead pat a spot on the bed beside her own rear end and offer a questioning look. Right now, she didn't want to be alone. She didn't want to feel alone or to sit by herself.

The girl swallowed, trying not to cry anew at the idea the woman might not be able to sit with her. Rare wanted nothing more than comfort and kindness and to feel like she hadn't been sent here as an execution method: that maybe this horror she'd experienced was simply a way to establish a cover story, but the fact remained: she'd been told her mission was the opposite of the place at which she had arrived.
 
The woman sat down beside Rare without as much as batting an eyebrow at the child's request and made herself comfortable. She did not approach the teenager too closely, however, as she was not sure if she should be intruding on Rare's personal space. Then there was the fact that her body pretty much hurt all over the place. She could not fault the soldiers for the lack of supplies, because they really had done their best to treat her injuries short of having a complete hospital at their hand. And while she did not know a lot of sign language, there was something else she could do to bridge the barrier between them. Pulling out a sheet of dirty paper and a somehow still intact graphite pencil from her pocket, she laid both of them out before Rare.

"Sophia," she introduced herself courtly, her voice somewhat pained and quiet from her injuries. She was not feeling her best at the moment either, but she was still better off than a girl who must have lost her parents. Rare looked like such a darling too; big, brown eyes with long, black hair and clothes given to her by the military no doubt based on their extremely poor fit. Just like Sophia, another victim of the taelrikon orbital bombardment. This luck of theirs, along with the rest of the population, was a strange sort: They were fortunate to survive. And yet they were unfortunate at the same time, because the planet would be devastated and they would have to rebuild from the beginning.

Those were Sophia's thoughts right now. And she figured that one of the best places to start with was giving a lonely child some company as well as trying to forget about her wounds.
 
The girl's shoulders eased lower as the woman sat without hesitation. A shaky sigh escaped, and her forced smile began to meet her eyes, if only a little. Again, she signed a thank you like a blown kiss.

The produced paper and pencil brought sudden light to those big brown eyes Sophia liked, and at the introduction, Rare's smile grew. Closed-lipped, but it filled her eyes. She started to sign, but stopped and looked toward the paper and leaned toward it. Near the top, in a corner, she wrote in neat, small letters, her printing elegant despite its simplicity.


My name is Rare. I am glad to meet you, Sophia.


Despite her newfound smile and the words on the page, the girl still shook slightly: not enough to alter her writing with her hand rested on the page, but as she looked toward the food, and then towards Sophia, she wondered if it was polite to eat while conversing in this place. Rare understood Sophia intended her to eat, the woman even said as much, but...

Her hungry stomach made its needs known, and with fresh pinkness to her cheeks and ears, she inclined her head. She had to eat, even if she knew it wouldn't be enough.

Though she ate eagerly, she remained careful not to spill, and never overstuffed her mouth. Still, the speed at which she ate her first few bites didn't allow the flavor to register.
 
Cute little thing. Sophia may not have known sign language, but she could read the gratefullness coming from Rare just fine. It was not entirely genuine. Rare must have gone through a lot, so the woman could not expect a warm welcome or genuine emotion from her when it came to food or anything. Still, the child managed to introduce herself and was even polite enough to include a nice to meet you when Sophia only offered her name. Honestly, it was a pleasant surprise to see someone who could stay polite despite everything they had gone through outside. It gave her a little bit of hope back.

"Nice to meet you too," she said, then she blinked as Rare started wolfing the food down. "Easy, Rare," she said as she cautiously reached towards her with her hands in case she spilled it or managed to burn her tongue on the food. It was not that hot the last time Sophia had checked, but it never hurt to be cautious. "Even if you're hungry, you can't just swallow it all like the big, bad wolf," she joked, though the light tone did not really make it into her voice. She was a little too pained for that, so she was forcing herself to endure the lack of painkillers as well as the ache of her wounds. Rare, however, was not just a distraction for her until she managed to get better care. Sophia's voice seemed to convey genuine concern.
 
Rare stopped as Sophia chided her, and then swallowed and offered a bashful expression before she slowed her pace. Unconsciously, she leaned into the other woman's touch. She wanted to simply drink the soup and stuff her face with the rest and ask for seconds, thirds, fourths, fifths, sixths—however many it took to stop feeling so hungry and nervous. What she ate thus far, just a few rapid bites, settled her nerves only slightly.

She set down her utensil and wrote again on the paper, small and clear.


Apologies. I When I am scared, I tend to get more hungry, and everything that has happened is almost too much to process.


Slowly, the girl placed the pencil back down and kept her gaze away from her food, uncertain that she had the self-control needed to eat slowly. Despite her efforts, her eyes darted towards the food every few moments.
 
Sophia had not expected for Rare to actually stop eating when she scolded the young teenager, nor was she expecting a message like that. A frown crossed the woman's features as she read the words on paper, which did not seem like they belonged to someone who had been so frightened just moments before, but her suspicions died off quickly as she took another look at the poor thing near her. Rare was actually closing the distance between the two of them, which Sophia interpreted as permission to place one of her hands onto her shoulder. Then Sophia smiled.

"Do you want me to get you more food when you're done?" she asked as she withdrew from the young child, then brought the tray a little closer for her to be able to eat more comfortably. Her grip was a little weak on it, but she hoped it would be enough to withstand a hungry child. "There's plenty of food. Eat and don't worry about it. Just don't burn your tongue or swallow too quickly." She could most definitely empathise with Rare's hunger, but as far as her opinion went, practically inhaling food was not a good way to go about quenching it.
 
Sophia was so kind and sweet. Rare nodded quickly in answer to all the woman said. She doubted she had it in her to write clearly again as she struggled to keep tears of relief from her eyes. She used one hand to help stabilize the tray as she observed the woman's weakness, then began to eat again. The horned girl ate slowly and politely at first, but as more food found her mouth and then entered her stomach, her appetite grew, and it took little time for her to finish.

This time, she at least tasted it, and with a bit more in her belly than before, she felt calmer. She looked up at Sophia, expression hopeful. The woman mentioned more food. Rare would not be a Hunter if she turned that down after the woman assured her there was plenty.

Especially since the girl's instincts screamed she might not eat again for a long time, given the danger before.
 
Hunger seemed to rule Rare and Sophie had to fight so she could keep the astonishment from her face. For such a little girl, she sure was eating a whole lot very quickly and she soon found the tray completely empty. Instead of chastising the poor thing again, though, Sophie just smiled, then she got up somewhat clumsily to fulfill her promise of bringing more food back to Rare. Another full portion for an adult would likely suffice, she decided, no matter how big the teenager's stomach was. And she could eat the leftovers herself when she actually felt hungry. On some level, the kind woman was actually a little envious of the ravenous nature Rare displayed. She wished she could eat so much when the orbital bombardment has just ended.

Bad thoughts aside, Sophie returned with more of the same food, balancing the tray carefully before she settled down beside Rare with a friendly smile on her face. "Eat well," she said as she helped to secure her offering with her hands, placing it well within the girl's reach and holding onto it with her hands the best she could. Like last time, the food was warm and it had a pleasant fragrance to it. Sophie kept her eyes on the girl while she ate, but did not ask anything out of consideration until she was finished. Only when the last morsel disappeared from the plates did her companion address her.

"Was it okay?" she asked, though it was more out of politeness than a genuine concern for the food's quality. She had tasted some earlier and it did not impress that much. "Did you calm down a little?" Hopefully, Rare did. The poor girl looked like she could use a little bit of peace and quiet after what happened today and Sophie would be delighted to talk with someone who could make her forget about her wounds a little. Despite the painkillers, or maybe because of it, their presence was a constant force against the layers of her skin.
 
Again, Rare helped her support the tray with a grateful smile. To her, the food tasted incredible. Flavors danced along her tongue and soothed her s her instincts told her that if she was eating, she must be safe. If she was not safe, she would not be eating. Slowly, visibly, she calmed, though sudden noises stopped her as her eyes darted in the direction of their sources, and held her breath until she felt certain nothing strange was happening.

Finally though, she discovered the tray was empty of food, and it took every bit of her self-control to keep from lifting the dishes to lick them clean. As it was, she glanced around with desperation, eager to find more.

Sophie's question brought Rare's wide brown eyes toward her, and with a smile, she nodded. Her fingertips still trembled slightly, and she kept herself near Sophie, but she lost the haunted aspect to her face as she signed her thanks like a blown kiss.

The smile fled though, as she lost the energy to keep it up. Instead, she simply let herself scoot closer to the other woman until she felt their hips touch lightly. After a few moments, she used the paper to write something.


Yes. Thank you, Sophie. I hope you do not mind that I am staying so near you; I feel safe with you.


Crow's training kept her handwriting steady and helped her select her words. She only hoped her literacy and word choice didn't make her seem strange in this place.

Mostly, she was glad that they used the latin alphabet here.
 
Goodness, she could eat! Sophie was honestly surprised at just how much food such a small child could eat, but then again, she may have gone through some really stressful times if she did indeed lose her parents. It would not have surprised her if Rare could only feel safe here in the shelter and had therefore went without eating for who-knows-how-long. Even more sympathy bloomed in the gentle woman for the child, not as if there had been any lack of it in the first place. The answer that had been shown to her on the piece of paper they communicated on also spoke of endless hardships and as such, Sophie could no longer help herself. With how Rare had been scooting up to her, the woman just let that wall tumble down. The she hugged Rare.

Though it was a little awkward for her to move with her wounds, she carefully wrapped her hands around the child in a tight embrace. She did not care that it might have startled her companion, nor did she care that Rare could squirm away at any moment, because within that split second, that was the desire which had overcome Sophie. Her grip was weaker than the Hunter was used to, not to mention there were definite signs of moderate inconveniences in her movement, but the gesture counted more than how it was carried out. Hopefully, there were not a lot of people watching them either or those that did land their eyes on them thought that they were being reunited despite the complete lack of resemblance.