[Yael] Great, Small, Fluffy, and Mean (Malta and Zekiel)

[DraconicFeline]

Malta could barely contain her excitement, reading and rereading the rambling but neatly written reply as she had for the past few days. The letter was now slightly stained with vegetable juices and less savory things, and its creases and folds were deep, but the message remained the same.

She slipped it into the breast pocket of her heavily patched and worn overclothes, humming happily as she prepared the feed for one of their newer animals - another large beast that scared the others, another animal that they would prefer to see her face down. They needn’t have feared being crushed beneath the mighty feet of the beast.

The mammu wasn’t that aggressive.

“Hey, girl, what’s got you so happy today?” Malta smiled at the ranch hand, a bulky lady with hands so calloused that they were dark and knotty like the bark of a tree. They usually meant well.

“Oh, nothing! I’m just happy!” she replied. It was a lie. Not only did she get to play with a mammu, but Zekiel, the priest, her friend, was coming to visit her. He was so wonderful, so special… she kind of wanted to keep him to herself. Was that wrong?

Maybe.

The answer seemed to satisfy them for now. She glanced at the ranch hands smoking in the corner of the feed room, and snuck several extra peaches into the feed bucket, along with fresh vegetables and roots. The mammu, she knew, would appreciate it.

She exited the barn, squinting through her glasses out into the misty distance. Was Zekiel here yet?  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

As was the way of things perpetually, life — including but certainly not limited to Zekiel’s personal one — continued to develop, further itself and progress forward as the gods bid. Most recently for him, such progression had meant a permanent pilgrimage to Ilidan, his new place of residence, for the purposes of learning to tend and administer all those duties necessary to run his temple there—for it was or would be his upon succeeding his predecessors there. Though he had known of this stage in his studies and spoken with his elders in Pajore, Sister Mortrem in particular, about his desire to eventually give primary service at one of the smaller villages near to the sea, it was still quite the shift.

Pajore and the Sanctum within was home. But this, soon, would be too. It didn’t keep him from traveling to the capitol when appropriate, and more importantly, though he was initially greatly busy, it did eventually lend itself to dictating more of his own work schedule—and what he did with his time free.

In this case, it was the first opportunity he’d had to pay Malta a personal visit since moving. Though they had exchanged many a letter — a form of communication she took well to and that he, while not the most book-patient, found very doable in small bursts as time and inspiration came to him to share of his days apart.

Both of their lives were busy in their own ways, but he made every effort to see to it that his remained a part of each of his friends with any inclination to be so. Malta, much like Edeline and Tacrith in their own ways, had become a special constant whose friendship he considered something like a garden: ever growing, gradually but consistently, particularly when fed and tended, curious and beautiful, and never quite the same as it had been before.

He found that he wanted to tend it as much as either of their schedules allowed to see what secrets the gods would reveal through it in time because, as with any garden far from having reached its full potential, he felt that new and more wondrous developments were on the way.

It was a misty, warm morning, the air ripe with the steam of the earth and abuzz with life. So much so that Zekiel thought he could feel the pulse of the gods about him as he walked it—there beneath his boots with each step where the earth churned around burrowing worms and beetles and stirring critters, and in each inhale which tasted as much of the surrounding jungles as it did of the town and the sea far beyond that. The essence of life became ever more pungent the nearer he drew to Malta’s home.

Braying, clucking, chirruping, whinnying, and simple human chatter all became part of the tapestry of sound and dialogue between and among beasts and nature as he approached. Alongside it, the scents—each caught in the air and held there more stubbornly, he thought, when the air was warm and thick as it was with mist. It made for a beautiful and complex combination so rich and messy with life that it reminded him in an off-handed way of the fishing villages and market streets. All so very different from the Sanctum’s clean, candle-scented holy ground.

But as holy or holier in its own way. So far as Zekiel was concerned, the complexity and naturalness of it all was a great testament to the gods’ powers of creation and divine design. He thought it all quite wondrous, and just as this thought was upon him, his silver eyes turned to the main barn and casually seeking, his gaze found her emerging.

He beamed. “Malta! Lurin’s blessing, you are as beautiful as the morning and it wraps itself about you with light. It is wondrous to see you.”  

[DraconicFeline]

She squinted into the distance, seeking out a rapidly approaching shape. Was that him? Was that him? It was!

Malta waved enthusiastically, bucket weighing down her other hand. "Zekiel!" Unfortunately, she had to stop waving in order to carry the bucket effectively, but that didn't matter much - the bounce in her step as she walked over to him said it all.

Ahh - he said such nice things. "I-its really wonderful to see you t-too!" she managed, "And, um, the morning... uh..." she floundered, "You look beautiful! In the light! Uh, also!" She winced at the words that left her mouth. She couldn't make beautiful phrases, not like he could. "Thank you for the blessing." she said, embarrassed at her attempt. But she was smiling, still. Standing tall, despite that. Happy. It was nice.

She wanted to hug him, but hesitated. Would that be appropriate? At all? In his nice clothes? As a full-on priest? Her own clothes suddenly felt very dirty and ill-fitted. He doesn't care. He doesn't care. she told herself, running a hand through her thick hair. "I... I'm really happy to see you!" she said again, "U... uhm, how are you? Doing? Are you settling in to your new place in Ilidan?" He'd mentioned the pilgrimage in one of his letters, and she felt so happy for him. Like her chest was about to burst. Like when Det obeyed a command and executed one of his routines flawlessly. Like when the Janarim nosed at her gently but firmly.

Happy.
There it was again.  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

As soon as she was within range, Zekiel did not hesitate a moment in enveloping Malta in a hug of greeting. She smelled of hard work and morning — sweat, feed, animals, the open air, and her own particular scent as each person had and with which Zekiel was becoming more familiar each time he had occasion to be around her. Particularly on those such as this, when activity made it more potent. When he pulled back, it was with warm eyes and great appreciation.

“You smell like life,” he said, “and yourself. It’s quite wondrous and strong this morning.” At her latter words, he nodded, watching the fall of her hair as her fingers drew through it and noting, not for the first time but with particular specificity on this occasion, that it was a lovely shade, like new flowers, and that it fell in heavy waves, thick and buoyant like the rest of her. “I am doing well,” he said. “I lingered in Pajore longer than I thought I might, as some…situation has come upon our people.”

She must know of it, at least, having been a topic presented to all the people of Yael before they’d been summoned before the High Priest and Priestess. But it wasn’t something they needed to address in depth here save as suffice to say it had happened, and because of it he had not left quite so soon as he had originally expected. Still, he had made it to Illidan in the aftermath.

“It is a beautiful village,” he said. “The ancestral home of one of city guardsman in Pajore that I’ve come to know, you know, and near enough to the sea that on some mornings you may hear it and travel there if you please to see first light spill over the water. Mothers Enith and Monira Grell are the priestesses of the temple from whom I will inherit it, as they have run it and its sermons for many years. Sweet women.”

He was not clear yet, personally, on whether they had ever been wed before the gods, or if they were only older women, the closest of friends. But he had not presumed to ask, and understood that they were both priestesses in their time, having served the temple for decades before his arrival. It was an honor, regardless of the exact circumstance, to learn under their tutelage. And a blessing already to make connections with the people.

Looking to Malta, he beamed anew. “I should think it a great blessing if you came upon time you could spare to visit me there. I might show you the temple and the water…have you fished? Great colorful clams are sometimes upon the rocks in the proper tide if we walked to the shore. We could harvest and cook them together…”

For the moment, though, they were still on Malta’s land, and he had nearly forgotten himself.

“First, though, what might I see here? Is your closest janarim friend well?” Detraeus, Malta spoke of often enough that the name was now familiar to Zekiel, and he maintained a close curiosity about the beast. So powerful and of a foreign breed that inspired well-placed fear in many Yaeli, but so apparently tame under Malta’s hand. It was magic if Zekiel had ever seen it.  

[DraconicFeline]

His hug was soft and reassuring and warm. He smelled of wax and oils, of herbs and sunlight and fine cloth, and a little bit like the air after a rain had cleansed it. He had also travelled - there were notes of dirt and sweat and tree-drippings, but they were faint, mere accents to his wholesome pleasantness. Malta, freed for now from nervousness, hugged him back, and wished she could hug him forever. But it would not be appropriate, of course. Instead she was returned to the openness of the air, the smell of animals, the wet of the swampland. She didn't know how her stinking clothing had somehow become a compliment - life and self?! But, coming from Zekiel, it was earnest and beautiful. She beamed, and would have tried to figure out a compliment for his scent, too. The light of her smile faltered, however, as he mentioned... the situation.

The disappearances.

She'd heard about them, of course she had. The ranch hands had gossiped, and she'd heard Yisette voice concern that one of their customers... or her boyfriends, Malta wasn't sure if there was always a distinction between them... was among the disappeared. Some of the 'hands had taken time to go to Pajore and listen to what had to be said. They’d said something about an attack, and priests being whisked away. Malta had not been among them, and did not believe them. Priests and priestesses could not be taken by spirits, and spirits lurked in the unholy shadows anyway. They could not be seen, only felt.

She’d been busy with Detraeus and the other animals, and so couldn’t entertain such absurdity... wait, were animals disappearing, too? "Is... everything going to be all right?" she asked. There wasn't anything she could do about it. She didn’t think that Zekiel would say no.

The sea... was that the salt smell clinging to his robes? She'd seen it before at this point, it was hard not to when living on an island, but not from up close. Life, the will of the gods, had simply not taken her close enough, not given her a chance to see it. "I'd love to visit you there!" she said, "I... probably could only manage Pajore, though..." She could find many ways to let Yisette allow her time in the city - religious reasons, commerce... Or, "Unless!" she brightened, "Does it have a port? Maybe if theres an animal coming in by there, I can..." or, no - she thought for a moment, wasn't that village on one of the land routes. "I'll see what I can do soon!" she said, hopefully, for the moment forgetting her master's whip. "I would like to try fishing, and clams, and... and all of those things, yes!"

It all sounded so lovely: a sunset over the water, the Mothers in the temple, clams, fish, Zekiel what more could one want?

Well, her beasts, of course. "Detraeus is doing really well! So well, that I actually have to cut back on his treats, otherwise he might get fat!" she said with pride. Detraeus would not like the sea, though. Far too wet. "I'll train with him later, when the sun is a little more out..." and when she'd prepared his treats besides. He wasn't getting a full meal today - janarim didn't need that and it wasn't healthy for them - but nibbles always encouraged him, even when pets failed. "Did I tell you? He's even starting to let people ride him! Predictably, though." Before, he had been a lot moodier. When he'd gotten to a point where others besides herself could touch him without losing a hand, she'd started to train him to riding. But even with her, it was hard to tell when he would want to ride... or when he would decide he was done and buck off a rider. Now, though, he was consistent, and tolerant. "He lets people stay on, even when he's not so happy about it. He's doing so much better!" she said, pleased. "I think he was trained to ride before, so once he started letting it happen, he sort of just... remembered it. Like learning how to swim, I think?" She'd heard that one never forgot how to swim once they learned it. She didn't know if it was true - she hadn't learned. Somehow, she - an islander - had not learned how to swim. But that was just semantics. "If you can stay a little later, you can come and see me train with him!" She hoped he could! She wanted Zekiel to meet Detraeus - friends were meant to meet each other.

"We sold the capramel and her calf - and I think we'll get a new one in at some point! They are such nice animals - so strong, so tame, and they produce tasty milk!" They were clearly a blessing from the gods, even if they were from the mainland.

"And...!" she nearly jingled the bucket in excitement, "We have a mammu!" It didn't matter if she'd said so in her letter or not. She would tell him now, even if it was again. "It's a big animal from the mainland's cold mountains! It's tusks are made of crystal and it's so smart! I have its food here..." she had a feeling she knew the answer, but she asked anyway, hopefully, "Would you like to go see it?" she asked, conspiratorially, "It... she, I think... is magnificent."  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Is…everything going to be alright?

It was a familiar sentiment in form, mirrored by nearly all those who had appeared at the gathering before the Sanctum and repeated again and again in various ways, sometimes all but exactly like that. Yet, coming from Malta there was a particular innocent hopefulness to it. He could not say the will of the gods, and what was ‘alright’ would be different from person to person. For some, it wouldn’t be and he had no power over that.

In this instant, however, he felt nothing was more appropriate to say than, “Yes,” with assurance and a smile. “The gods have put mystery before us and trial, but it is as they will it, and all will resolve itself in time. It is for us only a time to pray and trust, and enjoy the blessings of each day.”

There was little more either of them could do, and so he earnestly saw no better alternative than to rejoice in what they had and see what the fates had in store as it came. This moment in particular, after all, was especially wondrous.

“I would love to see,” Zekiel said after she finished speaking of Detraeus and mentioned witnessing some of his training. “I have time this day to stay as long as I am welcome until afternoon.” There were evening tasks before him, but it was early enough yet that that was of no concern.

And…! Zekiel felt the corners of his lips pull up further quite of their own regard, curious amusement dancing into his eyes at her natural energy and excitement. It was quite unlike any girl he’d met yet, in a pleasant way. We have a mammu! Zekiel, in his peculiar experience with a particular mainlander, had more exposure to the concept of mammu than perhaps most Yaeli, and he felt a pull of reaction—some undefinable emotion coupled with the memory of a hundred gradually improving sketches, and followed by a gentler smile.

“I think,” he said, “to see her would be among the greatest blessings. She has traveled far to be here and seen things our eyes have not.”  

[DraconicFeline]

Zekiel was always so reassuring, and this time was no exception. He didn't sneer at her, or patronize her, or tell her the flat out lie that 'everything will be okay'. He didn't promise anything. He didn't tell her that her worries were unfounded. Instead, he spoke of mystery and challenge, things with definite resolutions. Things would be difficult, but things would be all right, and the gods were calling on them each to do the best they could. Yes - Malta would do her best!

"The sun should be out by then" At least, she hoped the sun would come out. When the clouds were filmy and grey like this, who knew what would happen? "He's better behaved when the sun is on his skin... I think he likes the heat, and it dries him off a little bit." she explained. Oh, but they were on better subjects now, more in-the-present. Detty could wait. In fact, he kind of needed to, and not just for the sun. His meat treats hadn't been prepared yet, after all.

"She has!" she said, trying not to bounce too much, "I think she might be older than us, too!" It was exciting, though! "I wish we could ask her what she saw, what she's done..." she sighed wistfully. Oh, if only. "But we can spend time with her now!" And, later, someone else would. That was why they were training her, after all.

She gestured for him to follow, hefting the bucket as she stepped over a rut in the dirt road. The bucket was the only thing keeping the bounce from her step. "She's in the big paddock over there." Malta said. Now, she was actively trying not to bounce - and it was difficult. But she did not want to spook the mammu. She could not.

"Careful..."  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

She bounced. Even as she visibly attempted to contain herself, it was there in her gait and her energy, as though there was so much of it simply couldn’t be bound. Zekiel felt he could feel it in the air near her, and it encouraged the warm glow to his eyes as he listened to her speak.

Though Zekiel did not know a great deal about janarims, he did understand by now — as near as their shore was to the desert mainland — that such beasts were accustomed to that territory, and while it was difficult for him to imagine (great swaths of nothingness but heat and finely ground rock, like the beach shore but on for miles and miles further than the eye could see and bathed in nothing but the burning sun), it made some sense that if that was the beast’s homeland, the sun would be something it favored.

When the subject turned to mammu, he beamed. “It is quite possible.” That she, the mamu, had seen more years of the world than they, that is. Neither he nor Malta were of an age to be especially wizened, and many larger animals grew to live as long as persons or longer.

As Malta moved in the direction of her animal, Zekiel followed, ‘careful’ as he could be, though he found caution far from his thoughts. While there might in actuality have been dangers present, he felt no leeriness of them and instead, contentment and curiosity. He found by strange happenstance that his eyes were just as pleased to observe Malta’s various excitements and movements as they were to observe the mamu, if not even moreso.

Later, he might give the thought more consideration. For this moment, he attempted at least to put his focus where it was meant: on the great furred beast that did indeed look so much like those rough sketches Ottolo had once scribbled out by the dozens.

“She is beautiful,” he said. “Has she a name?”  

[DraconicFeline]

"Not yet." Malta said, putting down the bucket. The mammu watched her as she carefully opened the gate - slowly, so that its hinges wouldn't squeak too loud. "Yisette says she might have a buyer in mind, and wants them to think of a name." It would lock them into the sale, or something. Malta didn't care about that. "I call her Citrine, though. For her tusks." They were a beautiful shade of yellow, like sunlight caught in stone. They sparkled in the sunlight.

The rest of her fur was sort of a light greenish and yellow-spotted white. Her eyes were also a bright yellow. In all, she made Malta think of fruit... so Citrine. Citrus. She was a little grumpy at times, so that helped too. How fitting that she liked to eat fruits and plants.

The mammu seemed fairly calm right then, so Malta beckoned Zekiel to come in with her, taking the bucket in her hands. Maybe Citrine saw the fruit. Or smelled it, with her long nose? Or maybe she was getting used to being there - either worked for Malta.

She picked up a fruit, sticking a few more in her bag. "So, how I feed her is... I take one of these." She showed a conical red fruit to Zekiel, "And I walk up to her, very slowly, like this." She walked forward, every step carefully placed in front of the other, hand outstretched - an offering. She whistled softly. "Here, come here."

Citrine looked at her for a moment with eyes tinged with ancient incredulity, contemplating not approaching at all. But then she saw the red fruit, and her powerful jaws began to water.

"This is one of her favorite fruits." Malta confided to Zekiel, stopping as the mammu approached and took the fruit from her hands with her trunk. "I think she likes the color."

Citrine ate it messily, chomping through skin and seed with ease. It was a Yaeli fruit, and so it was not made for such a powerful herbivore. Which was fine - the seeds were full of nutrients.

"Come on." Malta took a few steps back and held out another fruit, whistling quietly. It was the signal to approach, one she was training the mammu to respond to. Sounds seemed to work best for her.

Eventually, she and the mammu were near where they had started, near the bucket of food, and she was out of fruit. "I can't call her Citrine, of course." Malta said, "Otherwise she'd get too used to that, and when she has an actual name... It, uh... could cause problems." And Yisette would find some way to make her life miserable. It was not beatings anymore, not so much now that Malta was training animals. But Yisette found a way. She was resourceful like that, and loved to make her squirm... Malta closed her eyes briefly and remembered who she was with.

Zekiel. One of the nicest, most wonderful, Handsomest men she knew. Who was a priest. Also, there was a Mammu. This was not the time to think about getting in trouble. This was a time to show him animals and make sure he wanted to visit her again... she hoped.

"Here." she said, going over to the bucket and handing him a fruit, "You should give her a treat."  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

The beast was beautiful.

As little real experience as Zekiel had with them, he still felt very comfortable himself in the company of beasts—even strange, large, or inadvisably dangerous ones, as the case may be. And the gods had not seen to teach him any lessons in that regard. If anything, fate had always treated him kindly there, and he felt blessed to have seen as many as he did without a poor experience. He felt blessed standing in the presence of this one, so grand that her presence seemed to extend well beyond her already substantial size, emitting an aura of world experience, history, and life. The air felt warm near her, and her tusks and coat were of such rich, soft color amidst the white.

He watched with close attention as Malta worked, beckoning it forward with her sounds after drawing out a fruit.

“It must be a wondrous place in life,” he said musingly, more thinking aloud than anything else, “to learn to tend to the gods’ beasts and speak with them so. She knows you and appreciates you, after all she has seen before…”

When the fruit was offered to him, he blinked only a moment before his smile broadened and he took it, holding it curiously between his fingers a moment before curling his lips and attempting to mimic Malta’s whistle. It was a soft, airy sound coming from him, but beckoning just the same. “It will taste just as wondrous coming from my hand,” he promised the mammu, “though I understand her scent may please you more…”  

[DraconicFeline]

“Y-you think so?” Of course he did. Everything was wonderous to Zekiel… but whenever he said as much, Malta always felt that that was how things /really/ were. Not mundane, not horrible, not deteriorating and degraded and frightening, but wonderous somehow, deep beneath the surface. “... Most people think it's dirty work, for dirty people…” she confided shyly, “but I feel the same way.” She wanted to tell him why - that animals respected and loved her without expecting unreasonable things, that they were more consistent and forgiving than humans. She wanted to tell him the miracle of seeing the animal master what they were trained to do, to see them understand what she wanted and /do it/ and be rewarded. She wanted to tell him how it felt to see them succeed in something complicated, or to see them fail but get up, ready to try again. But she couldn't because she needed to stay calm in front of the mammu, especially when it was right there, right next to him, accepting fruit with imposing daintiness from his hands. In fact, she was being very friendly - the mammu was relaxed in his presence, asserting her will by selecting fruits and nudging him gently with her trunk until he provided them. “... I think she likes you!” She said, unable to completely repress her joy. Or her jealousy - her instincts growled that the mammu was being a flirt, and /how dare she/ but they were pacified with ease. He thought this was wonderous… and it was.  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Zekiel blinked, sparing a glance Malta’s way at the intonation of the question. Y-you think so? Not for the first time, he hoped he didn’t unnerve or frighten her. It didn’t usually seem to be the case, she had certainly never said he did, and he couldn’t imagine what about himself might be intimidating—but it was true regardless that stammering was not an infrequent thing, at least with this particular girl.

Most people think it’s dirty work, for dirty people…

He tipped his head. “It is dirty work, isn’t it?” Insofar as ‘dirty’ meant dirt and animal hair, droppings, food, and other natural elements it was at least his understanding that such duties were inevitably dirty - but not by virtue of that unpleasant or undesirable. “It can be dirty and wondrous, I think. I have been dirty before.”

As the mammu did venture forth and eat, Zekiel felt a pleased warmth tickle through him. I think she likes you! And he couldn’t help but smile.

“It is a mutual feeling, if she does. I should hope she is pleased. Have you ridden her?” He knew, at least by Ottolo’s word, that such beasts could be ridden, and she was certainly large enough, but he knew too that some animals were particular about such things and perhaps this one was not yet trained in that regard. It was quite a mental sight, though, to imagine his company perched atop such a massive beast, work skirts piled atop the thick fur coat and bright eyes peering down through her spectacles at the world below.  

[DraconicFeline]

The Only Black Uke

"... Well, yes." It wasn't exactly clean work, she certainly wouldn't wear nice clothes to do it if she'd had any. "A lot of people think its... bad?" Dirty meant bad in many ways. Though she liked the smell of soil and didn't mind the smells of animal and manure, there was an overlap between that dirt... and the dirt of shame.

They don't like the people that take care of the animals... but they'll ride the animal just fine.

Speaking of - "Not yet - she doesn't trust me that much yet..." The mammu would have to be trained to carry a person eventually - Malta loathed the word 'break'. She didn't want to break any beast, not to saddle and not to anything. But they had to do it, and she had to find the way to get them to do it. It was an agreement, not a forcing.

The mammu hadn't let her go on top, but the mammu had also never acted this friendly. The mammu snuffled at him curiously. "My, she really likes you." she said, her eyes narrowing a little at how trunksy the mammu was getting.

What if...

Malta had an idea, but quickly blocked it. Having someone untrained ride a mammu, that would be dangerous. She was not going to put Zekiel in that kind of danger. That would be irresponsible!  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

DraconicFeline

A lot of people think its... bad?

Zekiel nodded. While he didn’t understand it himself, he was at least familiar with the concept. Personally, he thought most walks of life had a certain richness to them if appreciated for all that they were, and Malta’s task was certainly no different. But, like the task of the fisherman or sail mender, it was a task which involved physical labor, mess, and some amount of materials which weren’t meant to be around ‘nicer’ things—like church clothes and perfumed cushions and silk ribbons.

Still.

“I do not think it’s bad,” he said. “Each of us make every day what it is just as we lay the foundation for the days to come, and the days to come need the trained and fed beasts and caught fish and cleaned stables that only come as the result of work which must involve dirtiness.”

Citrine, in the meantime, apparently took his lack of definitive answer as invitation enough to make proposition in the way of beasts and conduct a routine investigation of what he would bring to the table as a male of his species. Zekiel, eyebrows rising with curious amusement, gave a gently dissuading tap of his fingers to her trunk.

“I think you would find me disappointingly under equipped as compared to what a mate of your kind would possess naturally, I am afraid.”  

[DraconicFeline]

The Only Black Uke

She'd never thought about it like that but he was right. "And someone has to do them." Funny how the dirty jobs were all essential, wasn't it?

Meanwhile, she was watching the mammu, growing ever more uneasy as the creature's muscular trunk seemed to move ever more bolder until finally...

"Eep! No, nono, don't do that!" she moved quickly towards the mammu, "No!"

Ahh, this is so embarrassing

Citrine unwrapped her trunk with some reluctance - and some disappointment - and huffed a breath of hot air Malta's way.

"Er..." Malta looked at Zekiel, face hot, before returning to the Mammu.

Oh. Yes. Right. I need to train her.

"Uh, back up." she commanded. Citrine stared at her before, halfheartedly, stepping back.

"G-good." Malta said, rewarding her with a fruit. There will be no more of that, oh goodness no...

"I'm so sorry about that..." she said to Zekiel, "She isn't trained uh, to... uh... not to do that. I'm sorry..." Then, maybe belatedly, "Are you all right?"

Citrine, if she could roll her eyes, would have. Instead she shook her massive head from side to side, tossing her mane. It was the very picture of incredulity.