A Fallen HomeKin

PART XIV

Fralith stared at the boy in front of him in the reflective ClearStone. He was...much better off than he had been since he'd last looked at himself. His ribs no longer stuck out like a starved Ympalla and the sunken gauntness of his skin had faded into a healthy plumpness. The dark circles under his eyes were gone and the scar on his cheek had settled into a pale, rumpled imprint of flame.

He looked healthy. Well, besides the line over his heart, the pinkening wound on his arm, and the stick-ness of his legs. All the lying around hadn't done good to his muscles. He frowned. He'd have to fix that when his chest didn't ache so much. He needed to be fast if he'd ever tried to get out of here, not that...not that it was so bad. Tim was here. Tim was nice. Safe. Good.

A knock sounded at the door. "Brave Bud? Are you done? Your food has arrived."

Brave Bud. There was it again. Why did Tim keep calling him that? What did it mean? Fralith shook himself and went to the door, pulling it open. He froze, foot in the air and cold air blasting his exposed skin. Someone else stood in the room. Someone not Tim. Someone in blue.

With a slam, the door flew open. He jerked his knife out and whirled, catching sight of men in blue shirts before something grabbed his injured arm. Fralith shook off the memory and eyed the new man warily. What was he doing here? Why was he wearing blue? What was he doing with Tim's cart? It was his food! Not anyone else's!

"There you are!"

He turned on TIm, one eye still on the blue-shirted man. "Allimonah?"

Tim smiled cheerfully and gestured to the man in a blue shirt. "This is Officer Matthew Northwater. And don't worry, he's safe. He's brought you food."

BlueShirt nodded at him, giving him a small smile. "Hello," he greeted. Then, like Tim had when he'd been telling Fralith his name, he put his hand to his chest. "Matthew. Math-ew. Matthew."

Fralith narrowed his eyes, pressing his lips together. Math-ew. Matthew. Maaaathewww. Matthew. He let the door close behind him. BlueShirt is better. Shaking the weird name off his shoulders, he edged towards Tim, still eyeing BlueShirt. What did he want? What was he going to do? Why was he here? Why did he have his food?

He looked at Tim and squinted. "Beep."

Tim cocked his head. "Why so?"

"...no..." he paused. How could he get across that it was his food? "Food...food..." What were the words? Beep! He didn't know. Growling, he pointed at the food and grabbed at it, pulling the imaginary food to himself. "Food." It's mine. I want it. BlueShirt can't have it.

Tim studied him for a long moment, brows furrowed. "You...want the food?"

Fralith nodded his head at the word he recognized, hoping he was agreeing to the right thing. He shuffled back to the bed and sat, turning so he could see both Tim and BlueShirt at the same time.

Tim waved at BlueShirt and BlueShirt stepped forwards with the cart. He reached down and picked up a YellowCurve, offering it to him.

He stared at the YellowCurve then at BlueShirt. Was it safe? He scanned the other man's BodyTalk. He held his shoulders loosely and stood with more confidence and ease than Tim did, a sign that he knew at least some part of fighting. Was he a RedShirt? Fralith flicked his gaze to BlueShirt's hair. Brown. A mouse-ish brown. Not a RedShirt, then. A SecondHomer? No, his hair wasn't long enough and he looked too heavy-set for climbing trees. Then...a Rivierian? But didn't they have black hair?