It pays to be small and scintillating; you didn’t doubt for one second you’d be left alone for long, did you? The first one comes as a tower of sand and odd markings; you peer up at him, as tall as he is, red-eyed and smelling of newly budded man as he smiles proper and gentle at you. You return his grin, automatic, sprinkling the action with gentle things; the curve is silken, and the terror in your eyes eases just so. He speaks to you and you listen, and your eyes light up with interest even as you catalog the contents:

He is Astarot.
He is an Alchemist (?).
He is from the Dragon’s Throat. (Papa’s herd Papa’s herd Papa’s herd--)
His dragon is named Zafir. (You don’t care.)

You continue to smile up at him, maintaining a pleasant gaze, feeling stupid for it and wondering how long you must keep up the charade of interest. He has not said something interesting at all, not yet. But you know the script and you know that it is your turn to introduce yourself. “I am Enyo,” you say quietly, and a voice you pride for velvet, “and my own little Oneii flies above us as well, right now. We do not like to be caught unawares by approaching danger, you see. We enjoy--”

You were on the precipice of lying; this is a stranger who did not know your black pelt, who has not yet seen your devilish hidden in the thick white folds of your mane. You were going to lie. You were going feign any and all knowledge of this place, and though he may be ugly, he was large nevertheless and offered an innocent route deeper into the mainland. You were going to follow, as disinterested as you were, as bored as you were with the idea of a flaming hot desert.

But all that changes in the charging, sweaty, destructive mass of gray that you catch even before she crashes through the underbrush so suddenly. You gasp, and it’s an accident, because the scent of Sister had only come to you seconds before, and you had not had the chance to properly process it. The body that possesses such a scent is huge; your head cranes upward in a familiar way, as though you were looking into Papa’s very eyes at that moment. But these eyes are blue, white-blue and scarred, and they look upon you with a quaver that Papa never, ever possessed. And then the body snatches you, wraps you in a fold of hot sinew and a mass of unkempt fur, and the Papa’s illusion finally falls to the ground. He does not show affection like this; desperate and candid, you’re stripped from a persona for just a second, lulled by how completely you’ve been consumed by Sister’s embrace. No one can see the way your face breaks, if ever so briefly.

You're back.

“O…yes,” you breathe, and there is a fury that sparks in your chest, at the tear that so nearly perches upon your lid. After so much time training yourself, after so much exercise with Papa--and yet, somehow, emotion is still somehow powerful enough to battle your will, how dare you! There are crucial moments spent trying to reel it in; you love Sister, you’re so excited to see her, but this breach of form is completely and totally unacceptable.

The moments spent grappling with the tear in your eye removes you from some of Sister’s words; when you return to earth, it is only to catch:

I live in the Basin now.

Oh no.
Oh no no no no no.

You’re able to control the impulse to stiffen against her, but you pull away from her just the same, gently disengaging from her affection to look her in the eye. Your own expression is blank, clean of the sudden feeling of trepidation that begins to squirm in your belly. “Ah,” you respond. It’s all you can marshal; it’s all you can say at present regardless, with stranger Astarot so close, listening to your exchange. You’re not sure how to communicate your sudden misgivings; you do not sure if Papa would’ve wanted her to leave.

There is not much time to consider Sister’s actions; another comes, this one just as large as the rest of them, and you’re swept into duty and the fading golden sense of pleasure at being so surrounded by brutes. You feel safe.

“Hello,” you say pleasantly to a dark, blood-stained stranger, who offers nothing but his own curiosity and wish to help (it pains you to abandon Sister so, but duty calls, and you must answer). You smile at him, mousy and sweet, annoyed by his forbearance (you want to know about him). You respond with, “Actually, I’ve just met my sister here and another who has already offered their assistance--but it is nice to meet new people in this--”

Oh.

Your eye had been shifting across his body, noting his (lack of) markings for future reference--but of course, being the greedy little magpie you are, your gaze quickly latched onto the material presence of his person, which, naturally, led your eye to curve with the line of leather that strapped across his side, following its trail down to--

Oh my.

You blink rapidly; it is the first newly interesting thing you have seen since you entered these foul woods. Sister of course is interesting in her bigness, in her warmth and familiar rough presence as Sister; but this is another thing altogether, something you’ve never even deigned to imagine would be necessary, let alone exist; but here is a fellow who has chosen to wear a garment to cradle his nether regions.

Questions stack in you mind; you’re rendered speechless. “...oh,” is all you can say, lost for the moment.

"talk talk talk"