H-How sinful! That’s not what this is! She’s a hunter. You’re a grazer. End of discussion.

You’re not hitting on her! She’s cleaned herself up, and it was only natural to, well, notice. She looks… nice. Aesthetically pleasing even. For a hunter. Context wise. Like how you know a sword can kill you but you can’t help but notice its engravings? That makes sense, right?

And aside from being obligated to take care of her– You do owe her. She’s new here, and you need to help her get settled, make her feel comfortable. You remember how overwhelming it was when you first moved here, she’s probably freaking out like you are right now.

Or maybe not. Honestly, she’s kinda hard to read.

Which isn’t helping you stay calm either.

You weren’t then. But you are now.

For the love of Shama, STOP!

Okay, yeah—that might help; you really don’t know much else about her. Only that she comes from a land where people have green eyes, awful jokes, and clouds that murder you. Oh, and the apparent fact that a Lightkeeper saved her from an incident this morning? A Gnomanyan immigrant. Just arrived. Saved by a Lightkeeper? That doesn’t make sense. A Lightkeeper wouldn’t even save their own mom if she was drowning in a bucket!

Glass is a strange person to say the least.

And exotic.

And in your bed.

Ak.wjbgkqa%wjeagkja Aaah. hey }

A-and did you mention her tail is v-very fluffy?

Ok, let’s just start asking about her homeland, before you explode, please.

You ask away.

“Huh? Oh, it sucks.” She says flatly. With her regional growl reminding your hair to stand up straight.

“Okay…” you swallow, trying not to sound nervous. “Y-You keep saying that, but there had to have been some redeeming qualities to it.”

She goes quiet, the silence stretches for so long that you almost regret asking.

“Ridin’ out on the frontier was nice.” she finally says. “The mountains, the open steppe… even the bug-ridden bogs can be kind of charmin’ in their own strange way. Just me, Crust, and…him.”

“Him?”

“My dad.” she says softly. “We’d be out there for weeks usually. An’ at night we’d sit by the fire, and he’d strum his strings while I danced around until I got sleepy. Then… I fell asleep in his arms. I… miss that.”

“That sounds… nice. See? That’s a good thing!” you reassure yourself.

“Yeah, I reckon…”

You ask her what her dad did for work. 

“He hunted. He’d take me with him on his trips. And I’d help him track, bag, then skin.”

You feel your heart sink a bit. “W-What did you hunt?”

She smirks. “Nothin’ smarter than that fish you got me, don’t worry…”

You chuckle nervously. “Oh. Okay.”

“He wanted me to learn all the ‘three hunterly skills.’” She continues. Shootin’, ridin’, an’ wrestlin’. Well… we did plenty of shootin’. Ridin’, definitely but I never got my spurs, an’ we never actually got to the wrestlin’ part. Lookin’ back… I kind of wish we did more together. Perhaps things would’ve turned out differently.”

Before you can ask further, she interrupts. “Anyway, did yer dad teach you how to drive crank engines?”

The question catches you off guard. Your chest tightens.

“Aheh, no not at all. He kind of thinks crank engines are evil.”

“Understandable.” she chuckles.

“No, seriously, Glass. He thinks they’re demonic, because they like, move on their own without a soul. L-Like those automaton idols that the Qoths worship so much. He doesn’t understand that they’re just a sum of movable parts powered by springs under tension.”

“Your folks have quite the fear of the unknown. What, does yer dad think yer spirit is corrupted because you’ve been straddlin’ on one of those evil machines?”

“No… My dad… heh– has other reasons to despise me.”

“Oh, and how so?” she asks, amused.

“Well, h-he’s not exactly too fond of how I grew. He’d thought I’d dishonor him because I, his first and only born son, couldn’t be levied for the Nanzuul. So, he’d always chastise me for not being a ‘true son’ to him. I mean, my brother in Shama, you conceived me outside of the Harvest Window; I’m not exactly going to be born with the frame of a warrior.” You try to laugh it off, but you choke up. “But th-that’s fine. I’m fine with how I look and I don’t want to die in some pointless crusade, anyway. He never made me forget it, though.”

“I guess I wasn’t cut out to be a knight. Or a soldier.”

“…Or even your son.”

The hunter turns to you. Her… piercing eyes open and locked on to yours. You freeze, seeing how they glow in the dark. Was…was it something you said?

You-you weren’t! Right? Oh God. You overshared. To a hunter. That you just met. You idiot. You’re vulnerable now! –They feed off that don’t they? Don’t they? Y-You’ll try to come up with an excuse!

“I’m sorry. I’m just drunk. I’m sorry.”

“Zeb.”

“I’m sorry he put that on you. Over somethin’ that you couldn’t help.” Glass says gently.

“But you didn’t let that stop you. Regardless of what yer failure of a father thought, you followed yer heart and became a rider. That counts.”

She pulls the blanket over to her side and sighs deeply. “An’ fer what it’s worth, I think yer a bit brave workin’ on those machines. Crank engines scare the shit out of me.”

You take a few deep breaths, trying to hold it together.

Sorry. It’s been a long day. The wine was probably a bad idea.

You… didn’t expect her to say that. If you weren’t so dead tired you might even laugh at the irony—how this hunter, of all people, seems to be the only one who might truly understand you.

At least you’re tired. Still a mess, but a tired mess.

After a few minutes, you become lulled by exhaustion and the steadiness of Glass’s breathing beside you. Her overwhelming presence begins to feel… reassuring… that…

…You are safe.

And with that thought, you let yourself drift off.

You regain consciousness. Glass’s side is vacant.