wilting flowers

In choosing to take her to the Armada, was it truly a mercy? She seemed so small, so delicate, and so uncared for. Unlike the slaves at the Armada. Charlie believed that she had potential, an ability and willingness to listen. Maybe she would even earn a place among their ranks someday. But for now his duty would be to care for her. He did not have to wait for her to respond, her answer obedient and polite. Charlie gave a small nod, his expression softening. “Good… I’m going to need to catch something, but I want you to stay with me. The open is no place for someone like you.” Someone could hurt her. Or take advantage of her… Charlie drew in a breath… he was certainly taking on a lot more responsibility as an adult than he thought he would. But he would rise to that challenge.

She gave her name, and Charlie would give a nod as he motioned for the other yearling to follow him. “Pixelate is a fine name. If you cherish it, I want you to keep it.” His tail began to wag behind him. “I am Charlie Fatalis, son of the Warlord Sirius Fatalis of the Armada. I do not want you to call me sir, but addressing anyone else in the Armada, it will be wise for you to address others that way.” He furrowed his brow. Would she be picky with what he caught her to eat? Out here in the open… ah… he would freeze, swinging his muzzle outward to tell her to stop. He would speak, but his voice was now a whisper.

“Be still, Pixel. Seems luck would have your meal before us.” The hare was still changing phases to its winter coat, bits of brown still within its pelt. It dug, seeking any grass that might be beneath the snow at their paws. Charlie would lower with purpose, tail raising behind him. He had to move slowly now, creep close enough to dart for it. Then he’d be able to secure a meal for the malnourished femme at his side.

"Speech," 'Thought.'