I see quite an optimistic happy-go-lucky atmosphere about this story in the very beginning. Not much of that these days. I like to think that's my evolution as a writer coming into play. In all honesty, it's probably just me being a sadistic bastard. Enjoy! [b]Part 35 -- Blood runs thick, brotherhood runs thicker[/b] Earlier that day, Katoth'ee's training academy had seemed to glow with the promise of a strong future, one where Sorran would learn to protect everything and everyone he cared about. Now as he stared dully out of the viewing port of the Seraph through the heavy veil of grey rain, all he could see was another example of what could have been; yet one more to add to the list. "Oh, gods," a wail suddenly came to the right of Sorran as they began to initiate landing procedures, the Seraph's equilibrium-thrusters evaporating the falling rain around it -- a bubble in the ocean. Sorran looked to his left and so Kym, weeping now that she no longer had to keep up a strong appearance for the now-asleep Gilyi, who still didn't quite understand what was going on. He looked to the front at Hem, expecting the Sangheili to comfort his daughter, but all Sorran saw was whitening of his knuckles as he gripped the controls of the Seraph tighter, obviously unwilling to confront his grief along with Kym. Tentatively, Sorran reached out a hand and placed it upon her quivering shoulder. She wrenched her face from her hands; nails bitten down to the quick. Her eyes were stained with tears, making them sparkle in the dim-light of the Seraph. Sorran opened his mouth, but there were no words. How could you possibly quantify the bloody murder of a mother and only son into mere words? "Kemyn was due to go to the academy in a few months," Kym quaked out shakily, and Sorran could almost feel Hem's knuckles crack as they tightened even harder. "He wanted to go last year, but I would not let him. I said it was because he wasn't ready, but I was just being selfish and wanted him to stay home as long as--" "Kym," Sorran protested despondently, knowing where this was going. She ignored him. "If I-- if I had not been so selfish, then he wouldn't have been at home when-- when... all of it is my fault!" she finally screamed out, the flow of tears intensifying. Sorran now heard a few light sobs from Hem, too. He placed a hand on Kym's other shoulder, and managed to bring himself to face her. "It's not your fault at all," he told her forcefully, placing emphasis on every word. "Blame me. The assassins came because of what I know. It's my fault--" [i]Slap![/i] The blow stung, and Sorran placed a hand up to his cheek with surprise. Drops of purple welled where Kym had struck it with her hand. He looked at her. [i]Slap![/i] Another one, on his left cheek now. It hurt emotionally more than physically, and he did nothing. Kym rose her hand again. [i]Slap![/i] [i]Slap![/i] The sharp attacks continued for almost thirty seconds, with each one bringing more tears into Kym's eyes -- no relief. Finally she raised her hand once more-- And let it fall to her side, drained. Sorran looked at her uncertainly for a few seconds, wondering if she'd begin slapping him again. He knew he'd deserve it, and braced himself, screwing his eyes shut. Rather than a sharp blow, he felt a light crashing into him followed by slender arms wrapping around his back. He opened his eyes, looked down and found once more there were no words. Kym had collapsed into him, small head buried in his lightly covered shoulder as she cried away the pain; the tears soaked through the fabric of his lightly armoured vest, their bitter warmth spreading across his skin. With shaking hands, Sorran gently reached around and soothingly nestled the back of her head, holding her tightly and swaying. As the Seraph made its final descent, he realised he was crying too. * * * "You lost much blood, Fleetmaster," the physician rattled off, attention divided between looking down at the medical datapad he held and his patient lying down in a bed. "Quite candidly, it's a miracle you survived." "Is that a polite way of saying I am a stubborn bastard?" Zharn chuckled out hoarsely, adopting a grim smile. He couldn't move a single bone in his body; it was like his eyes were cameras, and he could see the world but not interface with it. "It's a polite way of saying you almost died," the physician stated sternly, not seeing the joke. To Zharn's surprise his doctor was not one of the 'San 'Shyuum; the one wearing the pristine-white robe of the physician was in fact a kig-yar; his red plumage neatly slid through a parting in the robe, standing up proudly and its colour like the setting sun. It was always difficult to tell a kig-yar's age, Zharn thought often he even had trouble distinguishing gender until they spoke, but if he remembered correctly a rigid and vibrant plumage indicated youth. "I had to splice your DNA with an amino acid modulator so your body would replace its plasma supplies quicker." Even though Zharn was sure the kig-yar was more than qualified, he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy as the avian-like being examined his tender skin to check bruising, claws designed for ripping apart prey pressing gently into his flesh. "I do not think it would have been such a terrible death," Zharn commented, trying not to think about the time he had seen a kig-yar rip apart a human's face with its bare hands and gouge itself on the mess within. He felt the claws move across his skin a little harder after he said that. "Sometimes I wonder why I even became a physician," the kig-yar sighed, making little notes on the datapad as he did so. "Most of my patients are Sangheili, and after I heal them I merely get anger for not letting them die the 'warrior's death.'" "I am grateful," Zharn amended hastily, not wishing the physician to think him rude. "When presented with life over death, I'll do my best to choose the former every time." "And yet you think it wise to pit yourself against demons," the kig-yar tutted with its idiosyncratic carnal clicks, before laughing harshly. "I have half a mind to refer you to the ship's psychiatrist, fleetmaster." "I'm perfectly sane. You would not understand my reasoning; your kind--" "Are pirates, scavengers, thieves, slavers murderers, cut-throats and all in all dirt beneath your feet; is that what you were going to say?" the kig-yar interrupted cuttingly, and even though he wouldn't have said quite that Zharn held most of those thoughts true. "I meant no offence," he apologised. The physician shrugged nonchalantly. "I've heard such words enough times in my life for them to hold no real hurt any longer, fleetmaster. Ever since the Covenant first found us, they've considered us scum; tolerated rather than accepted. I do not expect that to change." Zharn remained silent, unsure of what to say. There was an awkward silence for a few moments, before finally the kig-yar cleared his throat. "Well, all seems to be in order. You'll need to rest, fleetmaster. If you need anything, just call." With that, the kig-yar set down the data pad, clenched his scaly hands and then the claws on the end of his fingers recessed into his skin. Noting Zharn's outraged expression, he winked smartly before turning away.