Everything is in reference to K.A. Applegate's Animorphs series. I own nothing except my original characters.

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PROLOGUE

I guess I should start with my name. It is Estrill-Mariel-Gahar. I prefer Mariel. It is less traditional than Estrill. Regrettably, we Andalites adhere to a strict code of tradition. Forgive me, I digress . . . You'll want to know my age, to whom I belong, and all of the other things that constitute an Andalite female. You heard right, not an individual, but a female. The Andalites are still in what xenobiologists specializing in Humans call the 'dark ages?' Is that right? Forgive me, I didn't devote as much of my attention as I should have to my studies. In polite society, females, while valuable, are subordinate to males in all respects. A girl's duty is to honour her father, a wife's to please her husband, and a mother's to either further her sons or train her daughters to be diligent wives and mothers themselves. The only females that are free of encumbrances are grandmothers because they typically outlive their male relations, what with the war and all (I can't wait to be a grandmother). I am bargaining chip for my family and a breeding prospect to the rest of the world. My apologies, I shouldn't weigh you down with lamentations, after all, you are a guest. No one wants heavy thoughts during a matrimonial celebration . . .

I'm sure that you were invited by one of the families and know little about the bride (it seems like no one ever does). I am seventeen years of age in Andalite and Human years– our planets calculate in the same intervals of horos.

My sire is a renowned, if not the most popular, fighter pilot. His name is Breeyar. I expect that you have heard of him and have some caustic remark in mind, but I beg of you to spare me.

My dam is the perfect female– docile, modest, demure, humble, blah. She is everything that a man could want so long as she is in her domestic element, a wreck when she is bereft of "home and hearth" to coin a Human phrase. This is the reason that she is reserved about my impending marriage. It means that her children are growing up and leaving her with only her daunting husband to cleave to. Not that they haven't grown to harbor some affection for each other, she may even love him, it's simply that they are awkward alone together and there is a lot of loud silence between them. I fear that I am about to become her in the same way that every daughter becomes her mother.

I also have two siblings. A little brother, the favorite, and a slightly younger sister. My brother was an accident, but my father opted to pay the heavy population tax than dispose of the much sought after son. I often wonder what would have happened if I had been the third child. I'm just being self-pitying; I honestly do believe that they would have chosen to keep me and suffer the consequences. My father is a hard man, not a heartless one.

My relationship with my parents is not what most adults would hope to have with their child. Instead of being the ideal daughter, prim and proper and discreet, I am opinionated, independent and forward. I do what I am told and nothing more. You might call me a smart ass.

This brings me to my most recent relational transgression. I have disgraced my parents in a most unprecedented way. I publically opposed my marriage and I am a runaway. I fled the most common of female afflictions: the arranged marriage. My father, being a shrewd business man as well as an outstanding fighter pilot, has foisted me upon the most prestigious warrior in my eligibility standard (the age and social standing of appropriate males for me to marry). I know that you're inclined both to sympathize with and to censure me for what I have done. I have damaged the family's honour and the value of my father's word, but you must understand that I had to escape.

I will walk you through my account of the fiasco that I have made out of the happy event. I'll even take you so far as my present state of being starved, filthy, and extremely uncomfortable.