((pre-dated to just after Book/Khloros return to Eridanus)

Khloros was standing staring out over Eridanus.

He'd never spent time, here--he'd never even been here, that he could recall. The way the grass, the ferns and the leaves shifted ever-so-gently in the currents of the cave's air left him with an odd, displaced sense of uneasy contentment. It was as if he were simultaneously made nervous and soothed by the constant motion. Perhaps it was a natural place for him to be--but unsettling in its unfamiliarity.

At length the skinny black foal turned away, and picked his way back up the slope. He hadn't been able to sleep. He'd left Booker to rest--caves knew the numbat needed his rest. No--deserved it. Khloros hadn't even gotten to ask him, yet, what exactly had happened in Polaris. How he'd escaped. Their conversation had been reserved for other topics--Louie. Illness. Baratheon. Sleep. Khloros had quietly and gently insisted that Booker rest, and had left him.

It had been hours, though, and he was still itching to know. Itching to snuggle against his friend--but Booker had, perhaps by some survival instinct, taken to the trees. The colt had been disappointed, but accepted it nonetheless, instead pacing around Eridanus, getting to know it somewhat. The earth was soft, the streams cool and good to drink from, not stale or metallic as Monoceros's seemed to him. The grass was sweet. But Nemesis wasn't here, and Khloros felt another pang of loss. He didn't want to have to choose, not between one family and another.

Time went on, and at length, he found himself standing beneath Booker's tree and peering up. He had to know if Booker was okay, at least, so loathe as he was to wake him, Khloros nonetheless called out in his raspy and hollow voice.

"...Booker? Are you awake, yet? Are you all right?"

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

@Booker

Eridanus was a safe haven, warm light dancing across fur playfully, heating but not burning, gentle wind rustling leaves and creating a melody. Booker had found himself sleeping more often than not, body drained and mind exhausted, nesting in the crooks of low tree limbs, slowly struggling out of the fog. The numbat remembered Khloros telling him to rest, so rest he did. He'd lost one brother to a petty argument, the bond boiling to the touch, almost embroiled in flame - one fallout was enough. Sleepily, the scribe drifted in and out of consciousness, truly relaxing for the first time since... well, since Polaris. No glass shards dug into his stomach, no assurances needed; only the reassuring strength of sturdy bark cradled him. The forest was open and bright, warm and dancing - the exact opposite of Monocoeros, in Booker's mind. Just what he needed to get away... though he tried not to think of what he needed to be doing: namely, finding Diot. If there was anything left to find. A noise made him drift all the way up to the waking world, and Booker blinked sleep from his eye, turning his head to peer down at the ground, face splitting into a relieved grin at the sight of his little brother. "'lo, Khlor," he called down, voice hoarse but no longer carrying the rattle of infected lungs. "'m... better. Alright, ah guess," the scribe mumbled, lifting a paw to scrub at his nose, yawning, still half-asleep. Still, after a moment to stretch, Booker slowly made his way down from his perch to the soft earth below, using delicate claws to fasten into nooks and crannies - nature's climbing hooks, always ready to use. Cheerily, he trotted over to the foal, plopping back on his haunches in front of him with a smile and a fluffed up coat - one that looked significantly less dull and sweat-soaked than it had when the sickness had been at its peak, when just being near the ground sent him into a panic, fearing another attack. "How are ya, Khlor? We didn't get much chance ta speak," the scribe croaked, rubbing at his throat with an apologetic wince. "I'm just... relieved, ah guess. Overwhelmed. That you're here, an' alive," he murmured, eye wide and shining, mouth slipping up into an awed grin.

@Khloros

Khloros didn't greet Booker with the bright, carefree cheer he once might have, the shy joy of the innocent youth. Instead, though he still seemed gentle, there was an aloofness about him as he lowered his head to softly nuzzle and snuffle the numbat in greeting. He was faintly disturbed by what he'd done to Louie--but only faintly, and that in a detached, only distantly regretful sort of way. The fact that he didn't feel more guilty than he did bothered him perhaps more than the faint guilt itself. As a result he'd damped down his own emotions a little. He'd gone just a little bit quieter... Just a little more dull and dim.

But he wasn't thinking about himself as he pulled back, eyeing his friend over. He was thinking about Booker. Booker's voice was raspy, and he was rubbing his throat, wincing; Khloros tilted his head.

"Your throat still hurts? ...I'm sorry." He was quiet, for a beat, then spoke again. "If you need to rest, more, go ahead... don't let me wake you. Otherwise, I was thinking--you could maybe show me Eridanus, and... tell me what happened, in Polaris?"

He asked the last bit in the most hushed of tones. He assumed that Polaris still raged with the dragon's fire, so Eridanus would have to be home for awhile. Even that thought sent a flinch through him, reminded him of how much he already missed his big sister, the trino Nemesis. He shook the thought away, and turned his attention back to Booker.

"If you're up to it. To riding me or--or even just sitting here talking, that is."

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

@Booker

Booker pushed into the greeting with a soft hum, almost a purr, trying to keep his own reactions as normal as possible. Khloros was even younger than him, had somehow managed to escape Polaris, had been dragged into the Louie debacle - if there was anyone who needed some stability, it was the foal. Plus, at the end of the day, Khloros was his brother. Booker loved his family, enough to catalogue the change but not comment, to nod and smile and provide comfort if not advice; how could he, when he couldn't follow his own advice half the time? "'s alright, Khlor. Not like it's your fault," he murmured with a chirp, tail twitching in the dirt as the scribe's feet dug into soft earth, grounding himself. At the request, Booker grinned, nodding and clapping his hands together, ears flicking forward. "Oh, that'd be lotsa fun! Ah can show ya the Eyes, and the Mother, and the best places ta get food..." His gaze darted away for a moment, considering, before he met Khloros' glowing gaze, nodding with a soft huff. "An' I'll tell ya 'bout Polaris. Not a fun story, but I reckon how you got out wasn't much fun neither." The numbat blinked once, twice, before nodding again, standing up to stretch before darting towards his brother, clambering up one of his legs to come to a stop on his back, patting the thin black fur below.

@Khloros

Khloros gave a soft snort, a sort of humorous agreement, tossing his head up and down in a brief nod. He turned and began to go the direction that Booker indicated, picking his way gently through the ferns, hooves sinking slightly in the soft earth.

"It wasn't great for me, either--no. The short version is that I lost you, and some of us hid in the river when the fires all came. Louie ran up to the dragon--that's how we met him--and the dragon attacked him with fire. We all got out, and we thought Louie'd saved us. He told me later... He told me he'd wanted to kill us, at the time. I think he felt bad... I felt bad for him." Yet Khloros' voice sounded empty, detached, even. He paused to nibble a bit of sweet grass, briefly swishing his lank tail, then continued on.

"I was worried about you, mainly. I thought I'd..." Suddenly the foal faltered, both in voice and step, before continuing quietly. "I thought you were dead," he admitted softly.

He lifted and turned his head to regard Booker with one large, glowing eye. "I'm very glad you aren't."

He'd said it before, of course--several times, now--but it bore saying again. He turned forward once more, parting the bushes with his bony shoulders, silent for a time before speaking once more.

"So... how did you get out? I thought you'd have been stuck in your den--I was so worried..."

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

@Booker

Booker listened with both ears perked forward, content to relax into a somewhat-numbat-shaped blob on top of his brother, safety and comfort wrapping him in an invisible blanket. The first mention of Louie made him tense up, snap to attention like a wire trap. "He ran up to a dragon?" Honestly, sometimes he wondered how the fox had even managed to survive as long as he had. "Must be how 'e lost 'is eye, then," Booker murmured, cringing at the idea of it. Something in him still felt a pang of sympathy for Louie, even with everything that the other man had done. It seemed Khloros could relate, and the numbat hummed, petting at coarse black fur, a soft ball of rage forming in the bottom of his stomach, hands trembling. His brother sounded... off. All thanks to the damnable fox. Even still, he couldn't bring himself to hate Louie. "Don't know how to feel 'bout that." It was just about the only honest response he could give. The admission made him pause, sinking down to snuggle the top of Khloros' neck, staring back into the horse's glowing eye with a tiny, relieved smile. "'m glad you're alright. Thought... thought you were gone, for a while." The question made him hum, perking back up to climb a black, wiry mane and sitting between long ears. "I was sleepin' when the fire hit. Woke me up - it came in the den, burned up everything. Ah managed to run, only got a little singed," he explained. A little might have been an understatement, but, well, it would be the least of Booker's many. "I ran, tryin' to find you. Couldn't. Had to bolt, but all the tunnels ah knew were blocked off by the flames an' the smoke. Managed to find one and follow it - got lost. Real lost. Couldn't find you or anyone, but I kept walkin' 'till I found Bara." A lull in the steady stream of slurred words, and a twitch of Booker's tail later, he coughed, and continued. "He was... pretty beat up. In real bad shape. So we stayed there, until he could move again. Found out later we'd been in Monoceros." And wasn't it a blessing in disguise, that no one had found them then? His brother would have been powerless to stop the Merrymen, bloodied and beaten already. "Made my way back to Eridanus, eventually, and then met Louie." Just his luck, really. Of all the days to check on the cats. "Ya know how well that went." Silence, and Booker huffed, moved to peer into a sickly-green eye. "Worth it, long as I got ya back safe."

@Khloros

The plagued horse looked slowly around, his gaze eventually drifting back to Booker... or as best it could, with the numbat perched atop his head. Booker was staring into his eye, which made it easier. He had been trying for normality, but... he didn't know where to go from there.

Booker had tried, then. Had tried to find him, but hadn't been able to--had been pushed away. Had it been worth it? Had everything he'd had to go through been worth merely finding Khloros...? No. Booker shouldn't have suffered.

So Khloros lied.

"It was worth it. It was... worth finding you, again. ...You know... When I was born, you found me, and... you took care of me. I thought the whole world would be beautiful, like your den. That everyone would be kind, like you. It isn't... They aren't. But since I learned that, I've been wanting to thank you for being the first to find me, and care for me. I never realized how cruel everything is."

The foal's speech was perhaps the longest he'd ever given. He spoke with a gentle half-wistfulness, sighing through his flared nostrils. If he could cry, for a moment, he might have; his heart wrenched with just how kind Booker had been to him, and how much the numbat had had to endure. For what? For being merely... kind, to others...?

"I wish there was more I could do for you. I... don't think you deserve all of this, Booker. None of it. I think... even Louie deserved better, but... he shouldn't have done what he did. He tried to kill me. He wanted to kill me. And I still feel bad for him. Maybe this place isn't good, after all."

Khloros said this quietly, as if considering somehow departing. His pale eye rolled to regard the numbat on his head again, and he trembled slightly with the emotional weight of his words.

Booker had deserved better than this. He still did.

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

@Booker