"You appear to have quite the appetite there!" Kathy exclaims with mirth as Hanna finishes off her triple-sized breakfast.
"I was tied to that tree for… I'm not sure exactly how long," Hanna explains, the strength and brightness starting to return to her voice. "All night, definitely. And all yesterday afternoon."
"And your friends just left you there?" Kathy asks, concerned.
"Involuntarily," Hanna explains. "It's a very long story. And it's not one I'm comfortable sharing with someone I've only just met. Even if she did just save my life."
"Fair enough," Kathy accepts. "I won't pry any further."
"I just realised: I must stink something fierce," Hanna admits.
"Yes, you do," Kathy chuckles. "Luckily, I don't mind. Why don't you go wash? I'll try and find a fresh outfit for you. I don't think those capris, cute as they are, are suitable attire anymore."
"Thank you again," Hanna replies. "I cannot stress enough how much I appreciate you helping me as much as you are."
"I used to be a mother," Kathy explains. "You never forget how to be one."
"I never had a mother," Hanna sighs. "Or a father."
"Orphan?"
"From birth. Or at least close enough to make no difference."
Hanna showers for three times longer than usual, in order to wash all the dirt, grime, and filth out of her fur. Still not entirely satisfied, she examines herself in the bathroom mirror. It'll have to do. At least I'm orange again; brown is such an ugly colour. Wrapping herself in a towel, she finds a change of clothes left by the door. Five minutes later, dried and dressed, Hanna returns to the den.
"It's going to take a while to get used to these bell-bottoms," she chuckles. "And the blouse doesn't really do it for me. Kinda makes me look a bit old. No offence."
"None taken," Kathy smiles. "It was the fashion when I was your age; I guess teens today prefer the more racy stuff you wear. Oh, and I washed and dried your scarf."
"Thankyou." Hanna accepts the scarf, and puts it on. "A big improvement," she smiles.
"I take it you're a member?" Kathy inquires.
"Since the age of 12," Hanna explains. That was unexpectedly honest…
"I won't judge," Kathy assures. "I used to be one myself, as was my husband, many years ago. Though our scarves were neckerchiefs, not infinities." I never tell anyone about my past, and yet…
"Is this your husband in this photo?" Hanna asks, picking a framed portrait off a shelf.
"His name is Mike."
"He's a hare, just like Rob."
"Who's Rob?"
"My boyfriend." Hanna pauses. "He was kidnapped yesterday. As were three other friends."
"My deepest sympathies; I lost my husband to kidnappers."
"My condolences."
"It was eighteen years ago. But thank you all the same."
"A lot happened to you eighteen years ago," Hanna remarks.
"It's not easy, but I live with it," Kathy sighs.
"I hate to be rude," Hanna states, returning the photo to the shelf, "but I need to go find my friends. If they're still alive."
"You should really rest; you're still weak."
"I know, but I don't have time. I may be too late already, but that won't stop me."
"Then go," Kathy smiles knowingly. "Just promise me you'll return once it's all over."
"I will," Hanna assures.
Unknowingly, they both share a common thought: Why does it feel like she's family?
