Disclaimer: Rights to Animorphs and its respective characters belong to the respective parties.

Warning: Just remember, higher-than-likely chance that things may be lifted directly from the text without warning, scenarios imitated, battles poorly written.

[~.~.~]

A/N: Up to Book 39, The Hidden.

[~.~.~]

"Okay, head back," I said, gently tilting Matilda's head back so I could finish applying the hair dye. It was a monthly tradition, necessary to conceal her true hair color. Sometimes of the children did the task – Rachel was trying to decide if she wanted to dye her hair as well, but her mother was firmly against it – but usually it fell to me. I didn't mind. Well, perhaps I really did. The scent was terrible and, honestly, I wasn't a fan of the midnight black. But this was something that had to be done, so I did her hair every fourth Thursday.

"I've been thinking, maybe next time I should go red," she commented.

"If you wish, but it wouldn't show up. You'd have to strip your hair first."

She ignored me and let me tilt her head to the side. "Do you think I'd look good with red hair?"

"It doesn't matter what I think about your hair." I bent her ear to get the hair there.

After making a noise, she suggested, "Maybe I should put pink stripes in it."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Why not? Or do you think I'm too old for that?"

There were certain arguments you did not tempt. "Of course not. No, sit still," I scolded when she tried to turn in her seat.

"I can't tell if you're lying if I can't see your face," she pouted.

"I'm not lying. Stop fidgeting," I smiled. "You're getting this all over."

Matilda took a deep, overly-theatrical breath and sat straighter, fixing the towel around her shoulders. "We should dye your hair."

"Why?"

"Why not?" she repeated cheekily. "And I'm curious if it'd stay when you demorph." She started giggling.

"Dare I ask?"

"I was just imagining you platinum blond as an Andalite."

"You are aware I hold the fate of your hair in my hands," I said evenly, struggling not to smile.

Her laughter was louder, but Matilda quickly stifled it. "Sorry."

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not," she agreed.

"Head forward," I said, pushing her head forward more in jest than anything else.

"Ass."

"Brat."

She giggled again.

"I'm surprised you don't dye Champ's fur. You have half a bottle left," I said once she stopped. "Okay, you can sit up."

"Champ is perfect the way he is."

"And I'm not?"

She looked over her shoulder at me, as if deciding, and I raised a brow at her. "No. No, I don't think so."

"Thank you for that." I rolled my eyes and pulled the gloves off, before picking up a wet dishtowel. She turned in the seat and raised her chin, and I wiped off the areas where the dye had colored her skin. When I finished, she wrapped her head in the shower cap and took off the stained towel before the setting the timer.

"Sometimes, this is so stupid," she commented.

"What is?" I asked as I threw away the kit.

"I'm dying my hair so I can hide from aliens. It's like bad TV."

"Don't be so cruel. TV isn't this awful."

She gave me a scolding look for my impertinence. "Sometimes, you are just not allowed to talk, okay."

"And is this one of those times?"

With a shrug, she said, "It could be one."

"I'm not scared of you."

"You totally are. I've seen you run from me in the morning."

"That's self-preservation, dear, not fear," I countered. "You are not a morning person." She never had been.

Matilda shook her head. "And there is something mentally wrong with people that are."

"I don't suppose I can argue with that," I agreed.

"You can't. You just have to accept that I am always right."

"But not always correct."

She waved a hand. "Semantics."

"But still true."

"Sometimes, I can almost think you could be a politician."

I glared at her. "There is no need to be insulting."

Hiding her smile, Matilda leaned in the chair. She looked so smug that if she had put her bare feet up on the table to lean back, it wouldn't have surprised me. Looking at her legs, my eyes narrowed.

"Are those my sweat pants?" I asked, though I already knew the answer and was upset at the proof. I didn't want hair dye stains on them!

"Are they?" she said innocently. "They were in my laundry basket. And they're so comfortable."

"They are mine. How are they even staying up on you?" While I was not large in the middle, not to extremes, I was wider than her.

She pulled on some cords. "Drawstrings."

"Why do you insist on stealing my clothes?" And she did. My over shirts, my dress shirts, my sweat pants, my slippers, my T-shirts, my boxers. It's not like she didn't have her own clothes to wear. And if she needed more, she knew where my credit card was, and it wasn't like she didn't know how to use that.

Matilda gave me a look. "Elfangor, you do know you're not really human, right?"

I scowled and looked away. "That's not the point. They're mine."

"Aww, don't pout, little Prince. It you ask, I'll stop."

"No, you won't."

For a moment, she almost argued, but then she laughed. "I probably won't. And it really doesn't bother you."

"Yes, it does."

"No, it doesn't. You're just making it bother you because it really doesn't."

I gave her a confused look as I sat across from her. "That … doesn't make sense."

Her nose crinkled with amusement. "It does if you think about it."

I thought about it for a few seconds. "No, no it doesn't. Faulty human logic again rears its head."

"I think you Andalites just can't understand humans as well as you think you can."

"No Andalite can understand humans," I smiled.

"Well, I think humans can understand Andalites."

"Really?"

She nodded. "All we have to do is think of the dumbest thing to do, and there we go. Or which way would lead to food," she added as an afterthought.

"And yet I constantly surprise you."

Matilda scoffed. "I never said you ever surprise me."

"I always surprise you."

She shook her head, a tilted smile on her face. "I think what you do is surprise yourself."

I sighed. "You're just going to deny everything I say, aren't you?"

"Well, I am always right," she said modestly.

"And you call me the ass."

"Ass, Andalite, close alphabetically. Coincidence? I think not."

"Idiot, Human, also close."

"Not as close."

"Close enough."

Matilda shook her head, then straightened her cap. "Can I ask, since we are talking about name-calling, why Matilda?"

I blinked. "Why what?"

"Why did you pick the name Matilda?" she repeated. "I mean, it's not very common. At least, I don't know anyone by that name."

"There's nothing wrong with it," I said, perhaps defensively.

"No, but since I have to deal with it, I just was curious. I have been for a while," she admitted. "Did you hear A-Waltzing Matilda or something?"

"Hear what?" Then deciding I really didn't care, I sighed. "I just saw the name on a movie. It wasn't that important. I just needed a name. I didn't know it wasn't common." I gave her a guilty look. "It's not a … a bad name, is it?"

"No, no it's not," she laughed, patting my hand. "I think I'm a little relieved it's not Brittney or those other pop stars the kids listen to."

"What would you rather it have been?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, it's not that big of a deal or anything, and it's grown on me. Of course, no one really calls me it, except you, and even then not too often. You always make a face."

I blinked. "I do?" I did?

"Well, not in public, but around here, you do. It's not very strong. I mean, not a yuck-face. Just a little one," she said, failing to properly explain. "It's not that noticeable."

It must be, if she noticed it. I made a note to practice in a mirror to see if I could fix it. "Even still."

"Even still," she agreed. "And it's not that bad of a name. At least no one misspells it. Whenever I used to tell people my name, I always had to go L-O-R-E-N, not L-A-U-R-E-N."

"Really?"

She nodded. "You have that problem?"

I shook my head. "No. My name is common. Not popular, but common enough that people can easily spell it."

"How does it look written in your language?"

Surprised at the request, I only blinked for a moment until I realized myself, got up, and retrieved a notepad and pen. I quickly wrote out my name using the familiar script, and turned it so she could see.

She nodded with approval. "It's very pretty. And that sounds silly, doesn't it?" she grinned, looking at me. "Write my name."

"In what form?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

I faltered. "Do you mean your full name or your primary? This is my full name, of course. My primary name is only this part," I said, indicating the start.

"Oh. Umm, my full name. Loren Marie ____."

If part of me winced that she didn't use her maiden name, I didn't notice. After thinking about the characters, I wrote it out and showed her. "It's not a direct translation," I warned as she examined it. "We don't have a letter-by-letter conversion, and Andalites don't write things out phonetically. After all, it's not like we hear words. But I think this is reasonably close."

Her finger traced the markings. "What does it say, really?" she asked quietly.

"It is your name," I said, a bit wounded that she didn't trust me.

"That's not what I meant. I meant … what is it, really? What's different?"

Oh. Yes, now I understood. "It is only little things. I mean, if I were to introduce you, you would hear no difference. Though, I suppose hear is the wrong verb to use to describe thought-speak. It is very difficult to explain."

"Try," she pleaded.

I sighed. "Andalite characters are based on symbols. A very long time ago, eons, we couldn't thought-speak. We communicated with hand signals. It's a very ancient practice that some Andalites still specialize in, though it is common to use military signs on a bridge." Even as I spoke, my human hands gave examples. "The characters were imitations of what the hand gesture would have been. Like my primary name." I pointed to it. "It is ultimately a derivative of a symbol that meant a certain type of flower."

"A flower?" she repeated, eyes bright and grinning. "Your name is like Rose or Lily?"

"It's a very nice flower," I defended. Actually, it isn't. Well, yes, it is a nice flower, but it's not showy or very popular. Not like a rose or a lily. Probably, I thought sarcastically, like a dandelion. It's a hardy little plant with small blossoms, but it had been around for thousands of years. There were carvings of images of it on old stones and tail blades. "And it doesn't actually mean that anymore. It's just a derivative."

"I'm sorry, just teasing."

I glared at her for a moment longer, but she was unrepentant. "Anyway, the primary derivative is here."

"The flower part."

I scowled at her tone, which was far too amused for my liking. "Yes. The flower part. Over time, other symbols got added. I'm not studied in it, so I don't know what they actually mean, but they altered it to become my modernized name. Many names follow the same general trend. There really isn't something for your name to connect to a particular symbol."

"Oh, okay. I guess that makes sense. So what did you do?"

"Earth has a plant called a laurel bush. Whether or not there is a relationship between your name and it, I used that to connect to a standard form of a tree that looks familiar and added a feminine character."

"So really, that says Girl Tree."

"Only as much as mine says Boy Flower," I said, amused. "Marie was a similar problem. I think it has something to do with water in Earth culture –"

"Or the Virgin Mary."

"Or that," I allowed, "so I altered it to mean a small drop of water, or rain, with the feminine connotation."

"So you basically infer a meaning to my name and found something that meant the same thing?"

"Yes, more or less, but they really are names. They could be used, though they would be admittedly odd. But, to an Andalite, your human name is odd. I didn't make up something like Drawer-ish or Jar-ness."

"Thank God for that."

I nodded and looked at my writing. "In any case, you wouldn't go by this name on my world anyway."

"Why not?"

"Andalite females do not take their mate's final name. You would go by your birth name for your whole life."

"How would it change?" she asked, curious, and I rewrote her name. She looked at it intently and pointed out an additional curl. "How come you changed this part in my first name?"

"It is just how it is done."

"But why?"

I shrugged. "It just is. It is merely an extra inflection. Like how humans add an S to mean possession, except that's not for possession. It is just a grammatical practice when the terminal name has a particular set of symbols. Unless you're actually going to learn how to read Andalitese, it's not very important to know why."

Matilda nodded, even though she was frowning, but I think it was mostly because she didn't understand. "How come the girls don't take the guys last name?"

"Why should they?"

She didn't know how to answer that. "How come you have three names?"

"Why do you?"

"That's different. My last name is because of my family. You and Ax don't have any names in common."

"I share my father's middle name, and Aximili shares mother's," I pointed out.

"Is there a reason for that?"

I shook my head. "Not particularly. Our parents are traditionalists, or at least our father is, and the middle name is usually passed down in one of the children's names. Sirinial has been in my father's family many generations and he very much wanted it to pass. Esgarrouth, though, they merely dropped to Aximili for tradition. I think it mattered more to Father than to Mother, and she just humored him."

We shared a smile, and then Matilda asked, "So is there any reason for the names? Are they all just names? Like, could I be Loren-Marie-Alice or something?"

"They are really just names. The terminal names tend to be older names, though. Elfangor and Aximili are relatively modern, altered more to be primary names. Shamtul and Isthill go back ages, if based on ancient writings. Some say they used to be herd names, or how the herd identified itself to another. Like, 'We are the Herd Shamtul; hello, Herd Isthill.' And there is strong evidence that the secondary names did signify parents. However, any name is likely to be in any position. It depends on the family."

"So how do you know who is related, if you don't have any names in common?"

"There are no obvious signs," I admitted. "At least for those who aren't Andalites. I mean, I can tell if someone is related to another Andalite, especially if it a first-degree connection. It is something more ingrained in Andalite physiology, a subtle connection we naturally pick up on, perhaps something even psychically. Unless the family is estranged, there will be a … a bond present. There will be more eye contact, a closeness not found in strangers. If you are raised in our culture, it is not difficult to see."

"I guess that makes sense."

I smiled. "You guess?"

She smiled back. "What does Ax's name mean?"

"I think its root is, in the crests of the waves with a soft wind."

"Wow. That's … specific. And sort of poetic. Better than flower, anyway." She smirked at me.

"I really hope your name means something terrible, so I can mock you."

She laughed and looked back at her name. "So you really would just say this like my real name?"

I nodded.

For a moment, she seemed pleased, and then she frowned. "How does that work?"

"Thought-speak?"

"No, but that'd be interesting to learn. How come whenever you say Andalite words, you know how they sound with ears or whatever? I mean, if you can't talk with a mouth, how did you … figure out sounds?"

I smiled and shook my head. "It is very long and drawn out. When Andalites first learned how to communicate over long distances, we used to use something like Morse code with very primitive computers. We hadn't learned how to develop communicators that translated thought-speak. But it was a very complicated communication method, since we don't spell like humans do. After a while, much of our world had agreed on a single way of writing. There was a period when a lot of communication was done like a fax, with written messages sent back and forth. It was poor communication, because one couldn't speak in real time until we made primitive computers that humans would think of as IM chats. There were also some regions who went into straight visual communication, where it was all done with hand signals on what would be a very bad television set. Eventually we made things like early telephones and arranged synthesizers for certain words, and more and more became agreed upon. It was a very long process, and there were even areas of dialects and slangs. Before thought-speak communicators were created, Andalites used to learn the sounds and would essentially type-out a sentence to be sent, and soon we learned how to get the computers to directly translate thought-speak into the sounds, and the audible order would have been sent. It wasn't until maybe two hundred years ago that we actually got proper thought-speak communicators like we have today."

"But it's not like you're going fa-la-la-tra or whatever. I mean, they sound like words," she argued.

"Our first sound systems were a bit better than that," I said, amused. "We also met other races and used their limitations to make sounds. It never was a stagnant system, and it took hundreds of years."

Matilda shook her head and looked at the notepad with our names on it. "I still don't understand how, if someone just saw my name, they'd figure out what it really sounded like."

I shouldn't find such amusement in her predicament. She was thinking like a human. I must have been smiling too much, because she scowled at me.

"It's not funny!"

"I didn't say it was," I placated.

"It doesn't make sense. I mean, you probably took words that don't even sound like my name when you say them with a mouth. How does it work?"

She sounded like such a young child that I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. "You're thinking like a human, not like an Andalite. You're trying to talk with a mouth, not with thought-speak. What do we care what something sounds like?"

"But … but how? If you talk in thought-speak, I know what words you're saying. I could pronounce them!" she said, frustrated.

"There are different levels to thought-speak. These days, many Andalites do just project words and sentences, but we can just as easily project imagines and scenes. But that is a very childish method."

Matilda glared at me. "You're totally by-passing the question. Because you don't know!"

I couldn't stop it, and laughter came from me in guffaws. As she might have killed me if I didn't get under control, I stopped and thought. "I suppose, if we must be honest, they would not."

"HA!" she crowed.

"However, there is no way someone would be presented with your name on its own. It's obviously a proper name. Any communications that say it would instantly transmit the appearance and sound to another Andalite. I mean, thought-speak is much more advanced than basing everything on a mouth and ears."

"But if it was—"

"If it was, and that Andalite passed it on to another, it is likely you might have a variation of audible pronouncation, but I do not know why that would be terrible. Tah-may-toe, tah-mah-toe, after all."

Matilda leaned back, arms crossed. "Your languae is crap."

"No, yours is."

"I don't think so. Ours makes sense."

"Yours is very simple and uncomplex," I said sweetly, perhaps over-exaggerating. English did have its annoying little quirks.

She opened her mouth to protest, but stopped when the alarm went off and told her it was time to remove the dye. For a moment, Matilda looked like she was going to ignore it, but then she stood up like a petulant child and turned it off. However, she apparently had to get the last dig in. "Go play with Bambi and Thumper, Flower," she said as she went upstairs after ripping out the sheet I wrote the names on.

I glared at her, then smiled conspiringly when I heard the shower start and go on for half a minute. Still smiling, I strolled to the bathroom, waited half a minute more, and then flushed the toilet. Her scream filled the house and I smirked.

"ELFANGOR! I'll going to kill you!"

"Get in line!" I yelled back.

[~.~.~]

The door slammed open and feet ran. "Elfangor! Elfangor!"

My head snapped up from where it was, monitoring the oven, and I instantly was panicked. They were not to yell my name unless they were certain it was safe. Or if something terrible had happened. I was already running and almost collided with my little brother.

We spoke at the same time. "What is –"

"They are here!" he yelled.

"The Yeerks?!" Then why was he smiling?! I made to turn, to flee. "We must –"

He grabbed my sleeve. "No, no, Elfangor! The Fleet! They have arrived, Brother!"

I blinked in surprise; my knees were suddenly weak and my hands gripped Aximili's human shoulders to hold myself up. "The Fleet?" I croaked. "Are you certain?"

Aximili nodded. "There was one at the mall!"

"One soldier," Matilda interrupted when it seemed I was truly going to fall.

"Going nuts at the candy store," Tobias added. "We barely got her out without attracting security."

"More than was already attracted from my 'niece'." Matilda gave a rueful smile.

"Her name is Estrid-Corill-Darrath," Aximili continued blithely while I forced myself to a chair, feeling all the world like grass had been snatched from beneath my hooves. Aximili kept prattling on about how we were finally going to win against the Yeerks. I couldn't even think.

I almost jumped a mile when a hand touched my shoulder. "Elfangor, are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost," Matilda said, and suddenly I saw all of their concern, even Aximili's. It occurred to me that he had stopped speaking some time ago.

"I'm fine," I said abruptly, standing. "It's about time they arrived. Did she say anything?"

"She gave directions on where we can meet her commanding officer. Imagine, a female in the military!"

I snorted as I went back to the kitchen. "Obviously you have learned nothing during your time on this planet," I snapped, "if you think females cannot fight."

Aximili blinked, then gave an apologetic glance to Matilda. "I did not mean – that is, well …"

Matilda smiled. "Just be happy Rachel wasn't here to hear you say it, Ax."

"You would have been on your own, Ax-man."

He puffed out, "I am not scared of Rachel." Seeing that I was going away, he followed. "Elfangor, do you not wish to know what she said?"

I looked in the oven again. "You will tell me whether I wish it or not. I only have to say is, if the Andalite fleet is present, the Yeerks seem remarkably calm." There is no way they could have just arrived, if a warrior was touring a mall. And there is no reasonable way a Yeerk Blade ship and an Andalite Dome ship would not be doing battle the second they were within contact of each other. My morning check of Yeerk computer activities had hinted no turmoil.

There was silence behind me. "Maybe they just don't know it yet," Tobias suggested, but it was clear I took the wind from their sails.

"They're waiting for the right moment to strike. Perhaps they want to know what we know so they can do the most damage," Matilda added.

"Get the rest of the children," I said quietly, opening the oven door and pulling out the soufflé. Though now I wasn't very hungry for it, and I set it on the cooling tray. "And let's meet this fleet."

"Can we eat that first?"

I laughed and turned to look at them. "Why not? There is no point going to disappointment on an empty stomach."

"It might not be, Elfangor," Matilda said reproachfully. "This could be it."

For some reason, that idea terrified me.

[~.~.~]

I flew to this meeting place with the others. I could have ran, but I wanted to fly. I was a pilot, despite what being on Earth had forced me to do.

Aximili would meet them, as agreed, except for the, with me, part. I sighed at his eagerness. Part of me thought it was hope, but another could not help but think it was because of a female.

If I had ever been so … so utterly pathetic because of a female, I promised to kill myself.

His pleasure at seeing her at the thicket made me groan.

Her displeasure at seeing Jake demorph as well made me pleased. Jake had won the dubious honor of being allowed to piss off the Andalites. Rachel and Marco had been very disappointed. So had I. I thought Marco would have done a better job.

I flew, following them until I saw the three other Andalites at the edge of the pond. There I perched, well within listening range.

They were very insulted that I had sent Jake in my stead.

‹Elfangor sends a human male-child as his representation?!› one, a commander, roared. ‹An insult to everything an Andalite stands for!›

"Prince Elfangor doesn't waste his time dealing with those that aren't going to further our fight," Jake said simply. "And Andalites that don't help deserve all the insults he sends."

Maybe I was wrong. Perhaps Jake would do. He was rude in a polite way, a trick neither Rachel nor Marco had yet learned or mastered.

‹Then again, what sort of Andalite is he, to give humans the ability to morph?› the commander sneered, and my feathers bristled at the same time my pulse dropped, and I had to look away.

"One who realizes anyone can fight, despite species."

‹Perhaps we should speak of our common goals?› Aximili suggested diplomatically, perhaps hoping to spare my feelings at hearing such opinions.

"Yes. Why are you here? Prince Elfangor knows you are not with the Fleet, that it is not here. It was small work to determine that you aren't here to assist us. You are here for your own mission." That was conjecture on my part. Correct conjecture, but conjecture nonetheless.

An Andalite spoke. ‹We are Unit O. An assassination and sabotage team.› He introduced the others and himself, but I was stuck on that bit. Whom did they intend to assassinate? Hopefully not me.

When Estrid's position was mocked, she responded by proving her worth. She attacked my brother. I was almost out of the tree before I calmed myself. No one struck my brother except me!

And suddenly they were being such children, tail fighting. And those warriors were permitting it, placing bets!

The children were not much better, cheering Aximili on. I seriously almost demorphed and berated the foolish pair for acting like a couple of fresh-from-the-Academy arisths. Almost. Instead, I gripped the branch tighter.

I was very pleased, though, when Aximili won. That would not stop me from scolding him later. And if he dared to use the excuse, she started it, I might very well have to do something especially vicious.

Finally, they told us the object of their assassination. Visser Three. Arbat's brother.

‹Will it be possible for us to meet with Prince Elfangor?› Arbat asked, more to Aximili than to Jake.

"We will speak with him," Jake said slowly. "But it will ultimately be his choice."

Gonrod snipped, ‹He is disgraced. That is why he sent a human child. He will not dare show us his face.›

Aloth gave a mocking laugh. ‹If it the Elfangor I remember, he will. It will be you who won't want to show your face to him.›

This one knew me? I wondered who he was, because I couldn't remember.

‹Be quiet!› Gonrod ordered. But I heard the fear. And I knew this was no ordinary team.

‹Aximili, Jake, leave them,› I ordered quietly. ‹All of you, go home. Come to my home at seven tonight and we will discuss this … wrinkle. But first, tell them … tell them that I will kill them if they approach me, if they follow any of you.› My voice was cold.

They did as ordered and I saw each of them disappear, go off. Part of me expected them to come back, at least one of them. I stayed in my tree and watched the Andalites.

‹Should we follow them?› Gonrod asked. ‹Why let him come to us? Let's find him and get this mission over with. He loathes Visser Three and would help us.›

‹Yes. He has faced the Abomination multiple times and has rarely run,› Aloth said. Gonrod bristled.

‹Don't be fools. He was probably here. He probably still is here,› Arbat said smoothly, his eyes looking over the area. ‹Do you honestly believe he would send his brother and a human child alone?›

I was only slightly impressed at the deduction. Not enough to show myself, though, because really, my actions were obvious.

‹Aximili will go to his brother. We can locate him with his DNA pattern, and then Elfangor,› Estrid suggested a bit eagerly. ‹I would like to meet Prince Elfangor.›

I cursed all these new-fangled regulations, ignoring the female. That made a problem, if they could find Aximili with a flick of a switch.

‹And risk Elfangor's temper?› Aloth said with a snort. ‹I trained under him, and I tell you, the last thing you want is him mad at you. It must have been his favorite pastime to bang us upside the head. And if you dared to block him, he showed you exactly how good of a tail fighter he was. And he was good.›

I would have blushed, had I been human. Was it my fault I always got uppity arisths to train? The only time things stuck in their heads was when my tail beat it into them. I swear, they must have sent the worst to me.

Arbat looked thoughtful. ‹He will come to us. He will want to rid the universe of Visser Three. Besides, he will not risk not asking us to join his battle.›

No, that I would risk.

And why does everyone call it my battle?

Finally they took to the air. In kafit bird morphs. I sneered in disgust but followed them discretely. They went to the Gardens and to their hidden ship. And I went home.

After one little stop.

[~.~.~]

We sat in my kitchen, eating the pizza that had been delivered.

"So, what are we gonna do?" Rachel asked. "We could get rid of Visser Three."

"It's cruel and immoral," Cassie countered.

However, they all looked at me. They still remembered that I gave the okay. My orders. I remained silent, chewing. Looking out the window I had opened.

"Maybe they will help us fight the Yeerks," Matilda said.

"Getting rid of Visser Three is fighting the Yeerks," Marco pointed out.

"Not by assassination," I said, daring to look away from the window. Only because I was certain I had seen what I had seen, the small motions that started from the grasses and bushes at the edge of the forest and came to the plants by the back porch. The way Champ had cocked his head, curious, before stepping to the window, as if to try and see something strange out there. "If I worked that way, you wouldn't have an assistant principal, Jake wouldn't have a brother, and you wouldn't have a mother. Because wouldn't it be so very easy, late at night, break into wherever they are, or even on a crowded street? You don't even need a Dracon beam or Shredder. A gun will work as easily. All you do is point and fire." And my arm raised and I shot out the window with the Shredder from Gafinilan's home while the children all leaped away, two shots. Twin screams of pain, and Champ barked with excitement.

"Go invite our guests in." They all stared at me. "Go! Before they get away. By the porch or somewhere near, I'm sure."

Aximili and Jake rushed out, Jake grabbing a flashlight because of the dimming light. Champ tried to follow, but they kept him inside.

"How did you see them? We can't see anything!" Cassie asked, watching as they went into the yard. I didn't answer, because once they saw our guests, they would understand. Of course, not that I had actually seen them. The beam had been set on wide dispersal, to cover the whole of the area. But I had a theory as to what type of morphs they were in, if they had used kafit morphs to return to their ship.

"Where did you get the Shredder?" Rachel demanded.

I ignored them, going under the sink and withdrawing a cage. Matilda moved the pizza so I could set it on the table just as Aximili and Jake returned, holding animals that obviously weren't from Earth and trying to keep the dog from being too investigational.

"This is a djabala and that is a hoober," Aximili said when Cassie asked.

"How did they find us?" Marco demanded. "I made sure I wasn't followed, and I know the rest of us did as well."

"Andalite technology. It is no one's fault," I said, setting back into my chair and staring at the creatures. I wouldn't share the exact technology, because my brother did not need to know it was his fault. Because it wasn't.

I set the Shredder down firmly, and the djabala's eyes followed it. The hoober looked simply terrified, but that's hoobers for you. "And as you are aware, that was the lowest setting. Make no mistake, I will kill you once this interview is over."

The children all stared at me, and the hoober shook even more. That would be the female, then. I truly only say so because she is an aristh and a novice to these sorts of situations, not because she is a female. When confronting someone you wish to have join your team, you always bring someone who appears weak. It gives the other person confidence.

"Provided, of course, you give me reason not to," I added quietly. "Should you pass the two hour limit, I will release you. Now who do I have the … honor of addressing?"

‹I am Intelligence Advisor Arbat-Elivat-Estoni,› the djabala said carefully. ‹This is Estrid-Corill-Darrath. We mean no harm.›

‹Please don't kill us,› Estrid added pitifully.

"I believe Jake told you not to try and find me," I said with disinterest.

‹You will not kill us,› Arbat said.

"Which is kinder? Kill you or force you to become nothlits? Either way, your mission will be over. If that is your mission." More conjecture. But you never trust an Intelligence Advisor. They had the intelligence, not you. And they never say what they mean.

‹You do not believe we are here to assassinate Visser Three?› Arbat asked.

I smiled secretly. That was an answer to a question not asked. "What I believe is not the issue. Obviously, you need me, or at least one of us. If Visser Three is your mission, you need to know where he goes, is, where the Yeerk pool is."

‹Yes. We do.›

"And you think we will help you?" I shook my head. "No. This is your mission, and I do not trust any of you. And you know why?" I leaned forward, leveling my gaze at the djabala. "Because you do not send arisths on assassination and sabatoge missions. And you certainly don't send one when the target is Visser Three."

The djabala was silent.

"Also, I work with no one so sloppy as to not get morphs native to the planet when they are going on a spying mission. Especially not an Intelligence Advisor." I thought about that. "Then again, perhaps that was your goal. I cannot be bothered, and I will be leaving. Let them go in two hours."

"Elfangor –" Aximili started, then silenced at my cold glare.

"I have given all of you an order," I said softly. And then, as I turned, I smirked and winked. ‹Let them go when they start panicking, or in an hour, at least. Find out what you can, and pretend you hate going against my orders, that it'll be your little secret. And have fun.›

"And where are you going?" Matilda called while Marco took a manic gleam.

"Just to give the bad news to the others. I feel I should break it to them in person."

[~.~.~]

‹I thank you for your assistance,› I said to Mr. King, though secretly wishing another Chee had been able to assist. Foolish, but then again, desires usually are. It is just I could not help but recall the boy he had appeared to be, tending my yard, three times swindling me of $30. He could have been honest and I told me I was over-paying him, after all, at least the second or third time.

It made me wonder if he was just being very covert, imitating what other human teens would do, or if all Chee took advantage of the ignorant.

"It is no problem. The Chee owe you."

‹Perhaps. Don't bother speaking to them. Just look imposing.›

The Chee nodded and we stopped walking in front of the hidden ship. The holographic van around us stopped moving as well.

I took a deep breath before calling at the ship, stating my name, demanding entrance. It was a scant few minutes later when the lower hatch opened. Mr. King and I walked towards it, and soon the Chee was disguised as an Andalite, a very large and intimidating one.

We were met by armed Andalites. I glared at them. ‹Lower your weapons. We're not here to attack.›

‹Prince Elfangor,› Aloth said respectfully, lowing his willingly. Gonrod did so much slower. ‹It is an honor to meet you again.›

I inclined my head. ‹I apologize, for I do not remember you, Prince Aloth. And you are the commander of this vessel?› I asked the other

Gonrod carefully agreed. He was skittish, as if he expected me to slice him if he stood wrong. He would not be the first, I admit, to think such things of me, but it was annoying. ‹I am. Why have you come here, Prince Elfangor?›

‹To learn of your mission.›

‹We have come to assassinate Visser Three, as we told your brother and human. Who are you?› Aloth asked Mr. King.

‹He is of no importance to you. And I will determine if you are here to assassinate him.›

‹The High Command gave me the orders!› Gonrod exclaimed.

‹In person? Show me to your computers.›

‹You should speak with Arbat. He will –›

I interrupted, speaking coldly. ‹I have already dealt with your comrades.› Aloth was surprised, but remained professional. Gonrod, I thought, looked beyond terrified.

‹You've killed them?›

‹Your computers?› I repeated.

Gonrod looked sick, but finally led me to the interior, to a console. ‹We do not know any of the passwords,› he started.

I silenced him and nodded to Mr. King. He went to the computer and started breaking in, slower than I knew he could, but I wanted the Chee to remain hidden. ‹Tell me about your ship, Commander. It seems worthy.› A lie. The ship … well, it was another clue that this mission was not as it appeared.

Commander Gonrod spoke, told me the speeds and weapons and the like. Not much for weapons.

‹So in a battle, your basic defense is to pat your tail good-bye?› I asked and noticed Aloth smirk.

‹Or to run away,› he said snidely. Gonrod paled.

I finally understood all of the jibes. A coward. I held my sneer and said diplomatically, ‹Sometimes the best course of action is a strategic retreat. Run away to fight another day, as the humans say.› This was no ordinary mission. You didn't send known cowards along with arisths to face Visser Three.

Gonrod wasn't fooled by my words and avoided my gaze.

Mr. King managed to break through the defenses and gave me a signal. ‹Can you find the official mission report for this ship?› After a moment, the Chee shook his head. I frowned. ‹Tell me, where exactly is Arbat-Elivat-Estoni stationed? Check the military records first.›

Typing ensued. And when Mr. King motioned, I looked. Killed in Action. ‹How?› Moments later, my answer. Killed on another ship. In battle, far from Earth. ‹Check the others. Gonrod-Isfall-Sonilli, Aloth-Attamil-Gahar, and Estrid-Corill-Darrath.›

Within seconds, three of the four were dead, and the other never existed. ‹Congratulations, gentlemen. You're all dead.›

‹What?›

‹You can't kill us!›

I glared. ‹You all died commendably in battle onboard the Ralek River. Except your aristh, and there is no record of her anywhere.›

‹But I got my orders from the War High Command!›

‹What's going on?› Aloth demanded. ‹I wasn't granted pardon to be claimed dead on another ship!›

Granted pardon? I filed that away and I thought about the pieces, arranging them into their picture. Even though most were missing, what I saw wasn't pleasant. ‹This is a suicide-mission, one that has not actually been approved by the High Command. You're being played for patsies.›

‹Patsies?›

I smiled meanly. Sometimes I enjoyed being able to call others human words and have them not understand. ‹This is a lab ship. Where is the lab?›

‹Second tier, but it's closed off to preserve the power for environment,› Aloth said. ‹There's nothing there.›

‹You expect me to believe you? You didn't even know you were dead. Let's go see what's there.›

Never trust Intelligence Advisors.

The lab was there, and it was in use. We all could tell as we advanced towards the lab; the smell of death was strong. Even I felt nervous and tense. Gonrod and Aloth were shocked at the finding, and I ordered them stationed at the door while I asked Mr. King to check the files. Quietly, he said to me, "I am afraid I do not understand these files, Prince Elfangor."

‹I do not blame you. They … appear to be very advanced. Advanced gibberish. To my eyes, anyway.›

Mr. King smiled. "I think I recognize a few biology phrases in these pages." I didn't ask where, because these pages were jammed with small, cramp typing. And I didn't want to know what they said, because my hearts stopped. It was impossible, not again … but it was making sense. Horrible sense.

‹Find where the agent is, please,› I said quietly. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was all innocent. But I could not risk Earth. Not my humans. And not myself when I was in morph, nor my brother. ‹Then … destroy everything. Make it so even a Chee couldn't get the information again.›

He looked at me, surprised. "Very well."

‹I wished you had not witnessed my people at their worst,› I said, speaking also to myself.

"Perhaps I am seeing their best."

I shook my head. ‹No. No. It is their worst. An aristh with no record, with no proof of existence, a crew that is dead. And not an even exemplary crew at that – one a coward and one that needed pardon. The remaining an Intelligence Advisor. What is the saying humans have, three strikes and you're in? Or is it out?› I shook my head. Sports metaphors. ‹Have you found it?›

"Them. There are three compounds that seem to be under strong protection and isolation." He told me where they were.

‹Do you know how to destroy them, safely?›

The chemical make-up of each came up, and the Chee regarded them carefully. "A Shredder blast should do it."

‹Good. I'll do it. Take care of the computers, and make sure there is nothing hidden in other directories, other files. I don't care if you have to make it so they're stranded here to do it, though I hope you don't have to go to such an extreme, but destroy all of it. Every last trace.›

He nodded and started to work. I went back to the others. ‹Give me your Shredder.› Aloth obeyed without question, though he was cautious and curious.

‹Why? What are you doing?› Gonrod demanded, a temble in his thought-speak.

‹I am aborting your mission,› I said as I fired at a containment area. They both gave a yell.

‹You fool! You're destroying the ship!›

I ignored him. ‹Your mission isn't approved by the High Command.› Well, officially, I added to myself, as another containment field went. One more. ‹Your mission isn't to assassinate Visser Three.› A small explosion. ‹Your mission is to deliver a virus to destroy the Humans with a virus.›

‹Impossible!›

‹A quantum virus! It would never be allowed!›

I looked at them with pity. They truly were patsies. ‹Take it up with your Intelligence Advisor and your aristh, who never attended the Academy. Are you finished?›

Mr. King nodded.

I handed back the Shredder. ‹The rest of your crew should be here in fifteen Earth minutes. Take care.›

[~.~.~]

I should stop meeting other Andalites, at least on Earth. They all inevitably end up shouting at me.

Arbat made grandiose threats, spoke of ruining my career. I said I was doing that just fine without his help.

‹It was designed to attack the Yeerks!› he had yelled. He hadn't dared to attack. The children were around, somewhere, and I had made a very obvious (to humans) lie by saying that there were flying purple people eaters around that were becoming open to other colors and species. The humans had all broken into snorting laughter that Aximili hadn't understood. Tobias promised to explain it to him later.

‹Does that make it any better?› I countered. ‹There are Yeerks opposed to forcing enslavement. It doesn't warrant genocide.›

‹Genocide? It is one planet!›

‹A test planet,› I said coldly. ‹Have you learned nothing from the Hork-Bajir failure, your own brother's failure? Biological weapons are not the answer.›

He said that it was the answer, that I hadn't been on the home world, seen what was happening. I hadn't witnessed the number of brilliant minds conscripted into the war, the impact it was having to our home with so many losses.

It pained me to hear him speak this way. And it was true; the pain and passion in his thoughts spoke that. I closed my eyes for a moment and said, ‹'If we fight a war and win it with H-bombs, what history will remember is not the ideals we were fighting for but the methods we used to accomplish them. These methods will be compared to the warfare of Genghis Khan who ruthlessly killed every last inhabitant of Persia.'› My eyes opened. ‹A human said that, Hans Albrecht Bethe. It is a crude analogy, but it says enough. Andalites cannot lose what we are in this war, Arbat-Elivat-Estoni. And ultimately, all Andalites are fools.›

‹We can end this war, you fool!› Arbat screamed, perhaps proving my last statement.

‹Your brother thought the same on the Hork-Bajir planet. He was just as wrong.›

‹He made the right choice, the choice the others were too weak to make!›

‹Perhaps,› I allowed. ‹It was a lesson he tried to teach me as well, to kill your enemy any way you can. And I do. But not that way. Leave Earth, Arbat. And take your crew with you. Tell the High Command of my disobeying of their orders that they never gave.›

He had no choice but to leave. His lab was destroyed, and his little aristh couldn't redeem any of the information. Mr. King had been thorough.

‹The death of our people will be on your tail, Elfangor,› Arbat said softly.

I laughed, which certainly surprised him. If he only knew how many deaths were already on my tail. ‹Travel well.›

[~.~.~]

Coming back from a late feed which had done little to clear my head or fill my body, I nearly jumped when I heard her voice. "How can you sleep at night?"

Heart racing, I looked into the shadows of the porch. Matilda was hunched in a corner, Champ at her side. Had she been waiting for me? "I usually close most of my eyes and let my mind become very relaxed."

She gave a laugh, but it wasn't much of one, and I was concerned.

"What is wrong?"

She was quiet, and drawing closer I could see she was in her pajamas and had a blanket wrapped around her. I knelt down in front of her, and in the dark I could hear Champ's tail thumping at my arrival. He wetted my hand with his nose and tongue, and I rubbed it on my shorts out of habit. She still didn't answer me, and I thought she might be crying.

I licked my lips and, after a very long pause, asked, "Loren, tell me what is wrong, please."

"I just can't sleep," she whispered. "Not tonight. Not after …" She trailed off.

There was no need to ask why. Some missions … some were the inspiration of nightmares, the seeds of insanity. The one today had been almost tramautizing, even for me. There had been too many human-Controllers, young ones, and we fought for our survival. Afterwards, everyone had been quiet, and if I heard several of my warriors be sick once they were themselves and out of sight, I made no comment.

I crawled closer to her, pulled alongside her and timidly set my hand on her shoulder. There was a small flinch, but then she leaned against me without much warning, sniffing louder, and I wrapped my arm around her in a comforting hold.

"Sometimes, I run," I whispered, answering her question in a more serious manner, "until I cannot think anymore. And I do not … I do not think when I fight. Just react. I have trained myself not to see details." It was not necessary to admit that just because I did not see the details, it did not mean I did not see the details.

She rubbed her damp chin against my skin. "I hate this. I had to hug Cassie and tell her everything was going to be all right, tell all of them, and I don't even know. They're just kids, even Ax, and they're looking at me to say they'll be okay, how to get through all of this and how to sleep. God, I nearly had to tuck Tobias in. And I can't even tell it to myself."

"That is why you have me," I reminded, trying to get a smile.

"And who do you have?"

"I have what every Prince has – those under him to care for." She poked me in the side, not liking my answer, and a noise escaped me.

"Can't you ever be honest?"

"Yes."

"Liar."

I smiled. If she could spar with me, she would be okay. In time. I looked down at the shadowed figure on her in my arms, thinking. "Princes care for themselves. Some are better than others, I'll admit, and each has their own way that works for them."

"And what do you do?" she asked softly.

"I imagine a scale. On one side, there is everyone who has ever mattered to me, whom I fight to protect. My friends, my friends, the children, my brother, yourself. Even Champ." The dog's tail thumped again at the sound of his name. "And on the other side, those who I've killed, who I've fought. Balancing it out. And I can see that, no matter how many I fight and kill, the side that I care about always outweighs my atrocities. Always."

"And that helps you sleep?"

"Yes. Perhaps it should not, perhaps it makes me a poor being, but it is what I do. I only fear that one day," I sighed, trailing off. "One day, the scale will tip the other way. It will mean I will sacrifice everyone I hold dear, and for what?"

"Your sanity."

I gave a small laugh. "I have not had that in many years. I find, at times, I do not even miss it."

She giggled.

"Come. Warm milk will help you sleep, and if not that, perhaps NyQuil."

"The sleep of the medicated."

"It is not a good method," I admitted, standing to pull her up, "but it is one just the same. Some Princes have turned to that way as well."

"Have you, ever?"

"Very rarely. They tend to make me feel worse in the morning."

We entered the house and, after I set her down at the table, I warmed the milk for us. We drank it in the dim kitchen light without any words between us. And then I smiled at her face until she gave me a look and demanded, "What?"

"You've got a milk mustache." With a thought, I wiped the residue from her lip and licked the liquid from my thumb before standing and placing the glasses in the sink for tomorrow. When I turned around, she was looking at me, cheeks red from the warm drink, and I held my hand out. "Come. It's time for bed."

Staring up at me and taking my hand, she quipped in a strange voice, "Going to tuck me in?"

Amused at the tease, I added, "If necessary, I will even tell you a story."

"Promise?"

I tilted my head, a touch confused because of the tone. "Probably not. You are one of those humans where telling a story just makes you stay up even longer."

I was please at her laugh and agreement, and once upstairs, we parted at our separate doors with proper good-nights. I hoped she managed to find the elusive sleep.

And I hoped I would too.

[~.~.~]

"This is the most wonderful time of the year," I pronounced, setting down two grocery bags on the table.

"You're two months early," Matilda turned and countered. In her hand, a soapy dish dripped and made a puddle on the floor. "And what did you get?"

In a fluid motion, I upended one of the bags, and a cascade of bags of mini candy bars slipped out.

"You bought Halloween candy! You were supposed to buy actual food."

"I did. That's still in the car." Chocolate had the problem of melting quickly in heat, so it was very important to get it inside.

She left the sink and looked at the pile, and then inside the other bag. "You bought," she said slowly, "two grocery bags filled to the brim of candy bars."

"They were on sale. If I bought ten of them, it averaged into getting one for free."

"Oh my God. You've gone completely mad and turned into Rachel."

I laughed at her joke and started to put away the chocolate. Some would go out in the open, some in the freezer, and then some in hidden spots that Aximili should not be able to find too easily. "We're all mad here. And you should be nice to me, otherwise I will not share any of my candies."

"Could you at least lie and tell me you got a few of those for the trick-or-treaters?" she asked, looking up at me while I tucked a few bags behind the molding on the cupboards.

"I could, yes."

"But you really didn't, did you?"

"I believe I shall plead the human fifth."

"Andalites," she sighed, sticking her hands back in the dish water.

I jumped down from the chair and finished hiding the majority of the candies before I brought in the rest of the groceries. These bags at least had foods humans would consider healthier.

Almost all of the groceries had been put away before Matilda spoke again. "I have a question for you. Why don't you have a dishwasher?"

"I do. I have you. Or if not that, one of the children."

She splashed water on me, not a little, and the front of my shirt was damp. "Ha ha. Seriously, you have every other stupid kitchen thing, but not a dishwasher? They use less water."

"The house did not come with one, and I saw no need to get one." There was no reason to admit I did not know they existed.

"Well, I can think of a few. Like twenty, which is the usual number of dishes you use when you cook. So you're getting one."

"No, I'm not. Where would I put it?" I asked before she could protest.

"You're the genius. You figure it out."

I pretended to think as I looked over the kitchen, and then said, "I've got it. It can stay in the store. We don't need one."

"Not funny," Matilda scolded.

"You do not have to do the dishes," I allowed. "I do not mind doing them. Or one of the children."

"Yes, and do you know that turns into?" she countered, hands on her hips. "It turns into every time I ask Tobias or one of the kids to do something. 'Oh, I'll do it, Loren. In just a minute.' 'Sure, no problem, Mom.' And then two days later, I'm doing it."

For a moment, I nearly suggested that she either be firmer in her orders or to simply avoid asking them to do things she knew they wouldn't do. "You are not saying I'm as irresponsible as them, are you? I do the dishes."

"When I don't."

"You cannot blame me if you are so bored you do them before I do," I said.

She scoffed at my naivete. "I can blame you for anything. You are going to give some of that candy to trick-or-treaters, aren't you?"

"I think I could risk the trick."

"You say that now, but when they egg your car …" She trailed off meaningfully, hands back in the dish water and smirking.

After a dramatic sigh, I agreed, "Then I suppose I must feed the little beggars." Stepping next to her, I took up a dish towel and started drying and putting away the cleaned dishes.

"Are you going to take Ax? Trick-or-treating," Matilda explained at my look.

I shook my head. "He is too old."

She bumped her shoulder against mine, possibly scolding. "You're never too old to beg for candy."

"Do you want to let my brother free with permission to mug people for candy?" I replied, dryly. "And he is too old. It isn't done, no matter how much he would like it." Or how much I would like to take part as well.

Matilda laughed after a moment of silence. "You're serious, aren't you? Elfangor, Marco and Jake and Tobias are going out, I already know it. With pillowcases."

For a moment, I wondered if she was telling the truth, but she would not lie about that. Would she? I was confused. "I thought … isn't this activity for children?"

"You call them children," she grinned.

"I thought there were age limits," I corrected. I certainly had never been allowed to go door-to-door, and I was pretty sure that, when I had been a nothlit, if I could have gotten away with it, I would have. "Is such a thing proper?"

She shrugged. "It might get a few scowls, but if they do it right and can get away with it, who knows? And you do know that if you tell Ax he's too old, one of those boys will just suggest he get a younger morph." Her eyes widened at a thought. "Just imagine if all of them became little five-year-olds."

"No."

"You've seen them with a sugar rush now," she continued, her voice lowered as if telling a scary story, "imagine them filled with sugar then."

"No."

"We'd be killed."

"Yes. Yes, we would."

Her giggles overcame her, and I chuckled from the contagious mirth. "And you know, if they go trick-or-treating, we would have to inspect the candy to make sure it's safe. No poison or razor blades."

Understanding the train of thought, I grinned as well. "It is my responsibility to make sure they are safe in all avenues. As Commanding Prince."

"It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it, huh?" she replied in the same tone I had used.

"The trials one must face."

"I'll make sure we're stocked up on Tums and other tummy-ache meds."

"Very wise."

She laughed again and handed me the last dish to dry. "Will you share your candy with me?"

"Of course not. If I share, you'll steal some from me. Why should I give you permission to have an even greater helping?"

Matilda shook her head at me, though I could see she was amused at my comment. "We should do something for Halloween. Make a haunted house or something."

I didn't understand the logic. "Why?"

"Just because."

It was a remarkably human answer. "I would rather not. Haunted houses imply others unrelated to us may enter. It is too much of a risk. And is it not enough that I will be feeding begging humans my stash of candy?"

"Of course not. You're too greedy. I have to fix that."

"Fix that?" I repeated, closing the cupboard door once the last dish was put away. "I need fixing?"

"Loads." Her tone was such that I didn't know if she was serious or not. "But flaws make you human." After she said that, Matilda paused and appeared to think about her words. "Or Andalite. Whatever."

"Yes. Whichever."

There was still a small pile of candy that would be put in candy jars around the house, and Matilda looked at them. "So I can expect chocolate binges for the other big candy holidays, right? Easter, Christmas, Valentine's Day?"

"If there is a candy sale."

"Buying ten to get one free is not really a sale, Elfangor. It's just an excuse."

I shrugged and opened a bag of Almond joys to nibble on one. "As long as it is a good one."

She laughed and took the bag from me. "It really isn't."

"Yes, it is. You just can't see the beauty in it."

"There's got to be something we can do for Halloween," she said, returning to her previous topic and stealing two bags of candy as she went into the living room. I quickly dumped the remaining bags into a large bowl and set it in the center of the table before rushing after her. While I did not doubt she would fill the dish out there, it was always possible she could hide one where I would not be ablet to find it (without morphing), doing it just because she knew it would annoy me. Such things gave her a sort of amusement.

I needn't worried – or I had been too slow – because it seemed she had merely filled the two dishes before sitting on the couch and munching on a candy bar as she looked around the room. "There's got to be something we can do."

"Do?" I parroted.

"For Halloween," she glared at me, at my perfectly reasonable question to what she was talking about. Human minds flitted from topic to topic, after all, and I was not psychic enough to tell what her mind was currently on.

"Why must we do something?" I asked reasonably.

"We just do."

"Well … surely there are movies and TV specials to the holiday." I seemed to recall there being something about a Great Pumpkin, possibly a terror film. Humans like movies that make them scream.

I was right in my assessment, because Matilda's eyes lit up. "A scary movie marathon?"

"It is merely an idea."

"We could tell ghost stories or something, maybe." The idea seemed to please her, but I noticed her mood quickly shifted away.

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing."

I waited. It was very unlikely to was really "nothing."

It wasn't a very long wait. "It's just … sometimes it'd be nice it they were older. Because really, telling ghost stories with them, it's just a little … pathetic." She gave a small laugh. "Even worse is that I'm probably getting excited about it, even still."

"There are other things to do," I offered. "And the children will probably have other plans. They may not even want to do anything with you."

"Ouch. Thanks, Elfangor, for being completely honest and blunt."

"I'm sorry?"

She sighed, slumping down. "Well, at least I have candy."

"My candy." I felt it was an important point to make.

"It tastes better when it is yours."

I shook my head at her comment and tried to think of something that could possibly lift her mood. "If you would like, you could go trick-or-treating with Aximili and the other children. That would be fun, would it not?"

"That's for kids."

"So acquire a young human," I shrugged, though wondering why it had been okay for her to suggest I go with them.

"Elfangor!"

I was not repentant. "Theoretically, you do not even need a young human. Talented estreens can change the ages of their morphs, though even the best can only remove a few years. But the scientists believe nearly any age is achievable with the right methods."

"What methods?"

"I do not know. I have not studied them. My morph is merely the natural age of the DNA I acquired. The forms we have do age, some at different rates for reasons I cannot recall, but they are not prone to the many of the weaknesses the age would normally bring."

"Huh." She looked at me, narrowing her eyes. "Who did you acquire?"

"I acquired several humans to make this form, of course. There was an old woman, several campers, some blood sample donors I am not aware of, a few others."

"Who did you acquire first? And don't tell me you can't remember the first human you ever acquired."

I smiled at her. "I would not. The first human I acquired was a small child who had gotten lost in the forest. I acquired her and carried her near the search parties."

"Really? And she didn't tell all about you?"

A small laugh escaped. "Yes, but she was very young and thought I was a horsie. A strange one, yes, but I believe she thought I was like cartoon centaur. And my acquiring her made her sleepy. She had been lost for a very long time."

"You tried to find her, didn't you?"

I was surprised at the question, at how exact it was to the truth. At that time, I could not but have known there was a lost human in the woods, with all the commications and humans about calling her name. Emily, I believe it had been. She had been lost over two days when I had found her, hungry and messy and sick, and I gave her a helping of berries I had carried with me. The human hadn't been scared of me, and I spoke as one should to little ones, before I let her get on my back and brought her back to civilization. I did not even scold her when she kicked me sharply in the sides, and when she gave me a kiss and hug, I acquired her. Once in her daze, I pushed the child out to the humans and stayed only long enough to make sure all would be well. "I did find her."

"You saved her life."

I wouldn't go that far. "I merely shortened her ordeal. I am confident they would have found her, eventually."

Matilda looked at me for a second longer. "If you go acquire a kid, I'll take you trick-or-treating."

"I cannot do that." However tempting it would be.

"You just told me to!"

"That's different."

She crossed her arms and looked up at me. "I don't see how."

"It merely is."

"Chicken."

I smiled. "I have not acquired one yet."

"It could be our secret. I won't tell the kids, and I know you won't. Come it, it'll be fun. You'll be adorable, I know it."

"No." I latched onto another topic, because I very well might fold on this one. "If you wish, perhaps Aximili or I could tell an Andalite tale. There won't be any axe murderers –"

"How about tail ones?"

I gave her a look. "Very funny. I'm sure Aximili will know better ones. The younger always do."

"No, they don't. Don't try to weasel out of it. Everyone knows the same stories get repeated, just with little fixes to keep them current." She leaned forward and looked at me. "And what's an Andalite's idea of a scary story?"

"Something scary, I'd imagine."

"Yeah, right. It'll probably be something really dumb. Like, Oh my god, my tail is getting dull!"

"I was only offering. Otherwise, Halloween is only around to gourge on candy. You could do that."

"Yeah, gain ten pounds. There's a fun time."

I grinned at her understanding. "Exactly!"

[~.~.~]

I don't believe I have ever heard that story, Aximili,› I smiled, lying only a bit to my little brother. It would not have helped our relationship if I shot down his attempts at bonding, however childish they were, and I hadn't ever heard that particular version before. ‹Thank you for telling me.›

Aximili looked up at me with eager eyes – all four of them, which showed how much he was interested in me, even if he pretended indifference — pleased at my words. He was so very young and small. Clever though, and it made me proud to call him my brother. (Part of me pitied my collegues when I returned from my leave, for I would have a multitude of tales about my little sibling to share. Perhaps I should warn my fellow warriors had best not get trapped in any rooms with me.) ‹Has that ever happened to you, Elfangor?›

I did not laugh, despite how very much the urge hit me. ‹I have never done battle with any sort of Wyna.›

He was a bit disappointed but rallied quickly, ‹It was a very scary story, though, wasn't it?›

Terrifying. You told it very well.›

His eyestalks moved with his assent, and his face was bright with pride. ‹Ultaquin said so too.› A pause, and then it occurred to him to continue the conversation. ‹Do you know any scary stories?› There was a bit of doubt in his tone, as if Aximili believed my age made it very unlikely. Perhaps he did.

I knew several, and most of them were from real life, but I would not share any of those with my young little brother. ‹I know a few tales, but I doubt they would be as scary as any you could tell.› Inwardly, I was grinning. As an elder brother, I had a sacred duty to terrify him. Within reason, of course.

That is okay.› I could tell he was delighting at the chance to be better than me at something. Not used to sharing Mother and Father's attention, Aximili was desperate in showing his accomplishments for some sort of approval, to get his share. I did not mean to usurp his position, and our parents did not mean to ignore him in favor of myself, but it was the way it became. ‹You could still tell it. I can pretend to be scared.›

Forcing myself not to give a hint of mockery, I said, ‹That would be very kind of you. Perhaps I could think of a tale. Have you heard of –›

" –the Sacrificed Woods," Aximili said, picking melted marshmellows from his fingers and lips. He had yet mastered eating a s'more without causing a huge mess.

"Andalite ghost story, please," Marco mocked, falling back in his seat.

"Anything would be better than yours about the cabby with a hook," Rachel shuddered. "Lame!"

Aximili scowled at them. "It is a very scary story. Elfangor told it to me on one of his leaves, and I had never heard it before. And many of my friends also did not know it."

"Who told you it?" Cassie asked.

I could not remember. "It was merely a tale I heard in my youth. Perhaps I had been at the Academy. I only remember being scolded afterwards for telling it to Aximili." I notice my brother's cheeks reddening.

"It's that scary?" Jake asked.

"I did not think so, but I forgot that young ones have very vivid imaginations."

Aximili interrupted, "It is a very scary story. All my friends said so, and they said my redition of it was very frightening."

"Tell it to us, then. This I got to hear," Marco challenged.

"I cannot tell it as well as Elfangor," Aximili said with a false modesty, and I did not miss his coy, mischievious look. Scowling, I recalled that it was a little brother's goal to make his elder's miserable in all ways possible.

There were several expectant gazes, and I focused on blowing out the flame on my marshmallow. A charred marshmallow oddly enough sometimes tasted better than one only lightly toasted.

"So, are you going to tell it?" Tobias asked.

"Humans would not find it scary. There is too much cultural heritage that one would have to explain, and the tale would suffer."

Matilda coughed, but I detected the word, "Chicken," that was not hidden as well as she thought.

"Marco didn't set the bar too high on the scary story," Rachel dismissed.

"Hey, that's a classic! You people just can't appreciate it."

"Didn't help that you can't tell it," Jake countered and ducked when Marco wasted a good marshmallow to use it as a weapon. They fought for a little until Matilda told them to settle down.

"I'd like to hear the story," Cassie said. "I think it sounds interesting. The Sacrified Woods. What's it about?"

"Screaming," I said, deadpan. It was an honest answer, more or less.

It wasn't long until the children started complaining and badgering for a tale they would not be interested in. To admit, I was reluctant to tell them the tale because part of me did not want the risk of mockery to my culture. I knew they would be polite to do it outside of my presense, but it would still happen. Perhaps it was a double-standard – I rarely held my thoughts when I criticized Earth culture, but I did not want it of my own, not for something so trivial. It wouldn't have been like commenting on Andalite attitudes, but … almost a history, a way of life. The story was scary because … because it was a terrifying sentence to an Andalite. Mocking it would be mocking Andalites, not as a people, but as a species.

But children, like in any species, can be very annoying when they don't get their way. And the only way to silence them, to get any peace whatsoever, was to just give in.

You must tell me if it does get too scary,› I said to Aximili, who waved his stalks impatiently. I knew there was no way he was going to admit if the story became scary, but it was something that had to be said. It made the challenge, the one that said, You're not going to, because you don't want to admit it's scary and be seen as a coward. The talk of siblings everywhere, no matter what the age difference.

Aximili, growing antsy from the wait, hurried me along. ‹I promise, Brother. But I'll still pretend to be scared,› he added as an afterthought.

I do appreciate it.› I closed my main eyes, preparing for a good start. ‹Has Father showed you your guide tree, yet?›

He huffed at me, impatience becoming more evident. ‹Yes. Ycul Ised. Elfangor, you promised to tell me the story!›

Yes, yes, I am getting there. You are so impatient.›

Momentarily contrite, Aximili rallied quickly. ‹Do you actually know the story?›

I gave him a mock-glare, which he might have taken seriously, because his stance lowered. I smiled to show I was not angry at his accusation. ‹Yes, I do. But sometimes one must lay a little groundwork before he can forge ahead. Do you understand that?›

Aximili said he did, but it was obvious he really did not. He was too young to see how sage my advice was, too busy stamping his back hoof to channel his annoyance. Most likely he thought I could not see the action

Do you like to talk with Ycul Ised?›

Yes. But she doesn't really talk to me, but I talk to her. It takes a really, really, really long time for her to say anything.›

My guide tree, Hala Fala, told me this story. It took many sittings.› Aximili grinned at my tone. (Hala Fala, of course, never told me such a story, and if he could have, I wouldn't have had the patience to sit through the slow telling, but the close relation would add the terror.)

It is a very old story, when Andalites still only lived by hoof and tail, when monsters were in the woods, monsters whose backs were so hard no Andalite tail could ever break through, whose speed was faster than any.›

His eyes were wide at the mention of the monsters, creatures scientists called Cannitus, but everyone knew them as monsters. Every child feared them, the ingrained memory of creatures that no longer existed but who used to feast of Andalites with an insatiable appetite. I used to imagine horrible over-active visions of them, seeing them in the shadows when the suns left the sky and the moons cast more shadows than light. ‹Even you?›

I believe so. It is good, then, they are none around,› I consoled. And then I added, ‹So we believe.›

Aximili's eyes darted around, as if one of the monsters would appear, and I felt a little guilty for teasing him. ‹Does your story have the monsters in it?›

No, no. They are too scary for me. So I fear my story will not be very scary, and I apologize.›

That's okay,› Aximili said quickly. ‹I do not mind.›

Then, once upon a time -- ›

What?› Aximili interrupted. ‹What does that mean?›

Part of me winced at the use of a common Earth story start, one no Andalite would ever use and Aximili had no understanding of, but I had used it without thinking. ‹It is just a start. It means it took place a long time ago. Once upon a time.›

Oh.› Aximili looked like he was filing the expression, possibly for his own use, and I wondered if I had inadvertenly polluted Andalite narrative history with Earth vernacular. Did it even matter? ‹I understand.›

It is okay. Once upon a time, there was an Leader and his herd. It was a time of little rain and poor grass and they were constantly moving, looking for a field to call their own, where there was fresh grass and no monsters.›

You said there weren't going to be any monsters!›

Do you I want to hear the story or not?›

He was contrite. ‹Yes. I am sorry. But you said …›

There are no monsters,› I promised again. ‹Now, they had been wandering for a very, very long time, through many dangerous places and times.› That had involved the monsters, in the truest and longest verison, but Aximili was too young for the whole tale, and too impatient. I did not need him to fall asleep on me. ‹They were very weary and very forlorn when the finally came to the woods.

They were a beautiful woods, ancient. The trees sang in the breeze and the grasses curved to their shadows in the most appealing of ways.› I sent my imagining to him, the sheer beauty I could conjure. There never could be a forest of such perfection, how the light would flicker and the grasses dancing in the wind and the growth patterns of the most perfect sort. Aximili visibily was in awe of such a sight. No doubt he thought it was real. If only it could be.

Everyone in the herd was very tired, but very glad to be there. Finally, here there was healthy grasses, there was food for them to eat and regain their strength. But it was not for long. The meadow there was too small for all of them, the extended family, and they knew they would have to again leave, set off again for the dangers outside this little haven. They were all very sad, but it was the way it was to be.›

So young and impressionable, my brother channeled the sadness meant in the story.

They were preparing to leave their meadow when the trees spoke. They knew they must speak quickly, to be heard before the herd had to leave.

‹"Wwwwwwwwaaaaaaaaaaittt," they called, tones on the wind, echoing,› I whispered, sending the eery call. ‹"Wwwaaiitt."

The herd did not know who had spoken, not until they realized it was the trees. They were very surprised and scared, for trees, as you know, don't speak in such way. The leader of the herd approached one of the trees and asked, "Did you wish to speak with us?"

The trees did. They did not wish the herd to leave, to back into the dangers. They wanted them to remain safe and in their meadows. They had liked watching them, listening to them.

But the Leader said, "We cannot stay. There is not enough space and food for us. If we stay, we will die. We must leave."

The trees understood, and they had an idea. A terrible one.› I leaned down to closer to my brother and whispered to him, ‹"If we were not here, there would be room."›

Aximili gasped and hopped around. ‹What do they mean, Elfangor? What do they mean?› He was horrified at the idea, hoped I meant something different. But I did not, and that was the point of story. ‹They don't mean …›

I'm afraid so,› I said kindly, because I did not want to scare him too much. ‹Everyone in the herd recoiled and protested. Over one hundred trees, willing to sacrifice themselves for their safety. They would leave, their suffering was not worth their death. But the trees persisted, and in their feelings, their leaves started to fall, their bark to crinkle in their pain and suffering. They would leave their ground one way or another.›

A human child would have been crying. While Aximili could not cry, the emotion was the same.

And so they decided, to stop the trees for their suffering. And with each swipe of their tail, the screams came. Wailing, piercing screams that dug right into the center of each Andalite. The saps of the trees covered their blades, seeping out of the trunks, and the screams carried on the air. And the crashing as the trees fell, one by one. And the screams, echoing in the mind, dimmed down one by one. Until there was nothing, but the corpses of the fallen trees. They burned the forms, and the smoke billowed and fire was hot, returning the hearts to the world. The meadow grew wider and healthy, plentiful.

And yet,› I continued quietly, ‹there were still the screams, still screaming in the minds of the Andalites, of them all. Stopping only to start again. And any Andalite who lives there, still hears the screams, and soon no Andalite could live there. And if you should ever be running over a meadow and suddenly hear the painful death calls, know that it is there, there that such a thing happened. There, there, the burial of the woods that sacrified themselves for a herd of Andalites.›

Aximili's eyes were wide on me, and he was trembling.

Perhaps it was not a good story to have told him, I realized belatedly. I smiled at him. ‹Was it scary?›

N-n-n-no, not at all.› His stalk eyes looked around us, while his main stayed on me. ‹Did you ever … it's not from our fields, is it?›

No, no, of course not,› I quickly assured. ‹It is just a story. I have never heard any screams anywhere, and none here or at any of our friends.›

Are you sure?›

Yes, Aximili. Our fields are very quiet and peaceful. Do you hear anything?›

He was unsure, and I thought his vivid imagination might be providing chilling sounds. ‹If you don't … then no. No.›

There is nothing.› I smiled, and tried to think of something else to distract him. ‹Come, should we return to Father and Mother? They might think I am kidnapping you so you may help me on my missions.›

Aximili perked up. ‹They would?›

You never know with parents. And you would be very helpful, so their fears would not be unfounded,› I said, leading us back.

He rushed to catch up. ‹I could be on a Dome ship with you, Elfangor?›

Of course. We would fight alongside each other.›

We'd beat the Yeerks, wouldn't we?› he chirped happily.

I smiled, perhaps sadly, at his enthusium and spoke the truth, ‹I believe it very well might take both of us. Would you care to race?›

It seemed at if the tale had left his mind as Aximili rushed ahead and I let it leave my concern. The young forget quickly.

Though, when Mother spoke with me not two hours later, it seemed like they remembered just as quickly.

The humans were quiet around me, staring. I was not sure about their silence. No doubt the story was not terrifying to one of Earth culture, even with the emotional projections I did to add to the experience. After all, there were some things I could not expect them to understand without giving them the knowledge and sights. Earth trees were silent and unable to speak – or were very shy – so how could they know what a tree's scream was like, let alone a full woods?

"That was … different," Matilda said after a full minute of everyone just sitting.

"Elfangor actually cut out much of the tale," Aximili said. "It is similar to what he told me when I was little, but when I was older, I learned there was a lot more."

Rachel demanded, "More? Like what?!"

"There is an actual att –"

She covered her ears. "Forget it! I don't want to know!"

"Thanks, Cassie, for asking him to tell us that," Marco said, tone sarcastic. "As if I didn't have enough trouble sleeping at night."

"It was sad," she whispered. "They just sacrified themselves like that."

"It is not unheard of, even now. Rarely done, of course, because to ask such a thing, or to be responsible for their actions," I said.

Aximili added, "And it is a great danger to harm a tree. There are rituals and rights to be done, but even then the trauma an Andalite might feel …." He trailed off.

The humans looked at each other. "Well, ummm, thanks for telling us it, Elfangor," Jake said.

"You're welcome."

"You did the screams very well," Tobias added, for lack of something better to praise, I suppose.

Marco made a comment I couldn't hear, while Aximili said, "Yes, he does."

"He probably practiced," Matilda said.

"I do not practice screaming."

"He's right. We're like the champions of screaming. For our lives, surprise –"

"For fear, pain, being a coward," Rachel continued singsong.

"Like I never hear you screaming."

Jake grinned, "Marco, you know Rachel doesn't scream."

Marco gave his friend a look, before a look of understanding dawned on his face. "Yeah, it's the Xena yell, right. Ay-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi!"

"What was that?" Cassie laughed.

"I think he was supposed to be imitating Xena's yell thing, what she does when she flips," Tobias offered.

"That's what that was?"

"He tries," Jake consoled, patting Marco's shoulder.

"It was spot on, and you know it."

"No. This is how she does it," Rachel said, taking a deep breath and giving off the trill.

"You really are Xena, aren't you?" Marco demanded, while Rachel sat back primly.

Tobias asked, "Anyone else got another story?"

Marco opened his mouth, but Jake quickly pushed him to the side. "Someone with an actual scary story!"

Over the children's noise, I leaned over to my brother. "Pass me another bag of marshmallows, please."

Aximili gave an embarrassed look. "I ate the last one during your tale. Unfortunately, I forgot they were not like popcorn and one should not eat so many handfuls during entertainment."

A likely, if improbable excuse, and I barely stopped myself from skewing him with my marshmallow toasting stick. It was only because he did look slightly ill, understand, and I wondered if it was possible that Aximili may have made it so he would never eat another marshmallow again.

Then I mentally slapped myself at the absurdity. Aside from being impossible, it was a horrifying sentence to never eat another marshmallow again.

[~.~.~]

There was a sorry sight at my kitchen table. Mother and son were both bent over a text book, and both shared matching looks of frustration.

"What are you two looking at?" I asked, though I had my ideas. Homework created that look on any species. When the two looked at me, I nearly backed out of the kitchen from the force of their twin glares.

"Hate you," Tobias muttered.

Considering it was my intervention that made both my brother and his mother get on his case in doing his homework, I could understand the sentiment. It did not mean I appreciated it.

His mother shot him a look, but he missed it. "I don't see how they expect kids to pass anything. This is impossible. Ax even said so, which means you'll be useless too." She pulled the book to herself and said, "We'll just have to go get one of those cheat books."

"That is –"

"Finally! I told you," Tobias said back.

"It can't be that difficult." I ducked when Matilda tossed the book at me, and I bent to pick it up. "It's just human literature."

"Page 276. Translate it. Now."

"Fine." I sniffed as I turned to the well-worn page. "Canterbury Tales, by Geoffrey Chaucer. Prologue."

"We got that far," Matilda said, crossing her arms.

"I do not doubt you." I smiled, though it was a bit forced at their matching looks. They were waiting, no expecting my failure, delighting in the promise. Shadenfreude. My eyes went back down to the written word and I realized why they were so confident. However it was written, it was not in the modern English. I cleared my thought. "This is very … interesting."

"What does it say?" Matilda asked in singsong.

Oh, that was easy. "'When that Aprilis, with his showers swoot'" – the footnote said that meant sweet – "the drought of March hath pierced to the root, and bathed every vein in such licour, of which virtue engender'd is the flower; when Zephyrus eke with his swoote breath inspired hath in every holt and heath' –"

"And what does it mean?" Matilda interrupted.

I sniffed. "I just started. You can't expect me to tell you what it means from a few lines."

"It's okay if you don't. Ax didn't. He was actually pretty upset," Tobias smiled.

Looking back at the written words, I frowned at the idea that my brother could not understand it. It shouldn't, I knew. Alien literature is hard to understand. One needs to have a stable grounding in the culture it was written by, so as to understand the subtle nuisances. It is why I did not have a strong understanding in ancient Earth literature; back then, it would have been too hard – not that hard, mind, but it was a challenging time. Now, I wondered if that was a flaw, but of course, how was I supposed to know I was going to have to help children translate these sorts of things. "Aximili is young and impatient. If he couldn't understand it by the third read, he probably proclaimed it was not worth his time."

Tobias snickered into his hand, verifying my prophesy, while Matilda glared at me. "Just admit you can't understand it either so we can go buy a helpbook without your disapproving glare."

"Elfangor still would give it," Tobias put in.

"True, he would, but he couldn't say anything."

"Yes, I could," I muttered, but I knew I wouldn't. But I hadn't given in yet! "This … translation is just a matter of patience. You two have none."

"I have an idea. How about you read it and then just tell me what happens?" Tobias tried. "Just enough so I get like a C. It's only on the Prologue and the Knight's Tale."

"No."

"Nice try," his mom smiled. "We've been at that for over an hour. I practically have the first page memorized."

"If you know what it says, it is a small matter to figure out what it means," I said practically, skimming over the next few pages. "There are some travelers. They're going to … somewhere."

"That's my answer. 'There are some travelers. They're going somewhere.' Good summary, Elfangor."

I shot him a look, flipping through the pages for a better answer.

"They're going to Canterbury," Matilda said smugly. "I got that part."

Ignoring her, I leaned against the counter and tried to translate, vocalizing the words under my breath. The translator chip worked better with an audio cue. (And I certainly wasn't cheating, relying on it. One must use whatever resources one has for homework.)

"This was actually a good idea," I heard Matilda say. "Even if he can't figure it out, it'll be hilarious watching him pretend he can."

"I can hear you."

"Elfangor will figure it out," Tobias supported.

"Thank you."

"I mean, if he doesn't, I'm going to fail the exam."

"You won't fail," I said, almost scolding him for such a thought. It was bad enough Tobias took a blasé attitude towards his studies – though not to Marco's extent – and had a dour view of his abilities, but it would not help if he made self-fulfilling prophesies. Part of me wondered if his scholarship attitude was because of his upbringing or if it mirrored his mother's – I had always thought Loren not very hard-working; she used spend more time during our study sessions doodling in the margins of her book than actually studying. Perhaps it was some combination of the two? It made his current predicament partially my fault. If I had been present, perhaps Tobias would not have these difficulties.

Perhaps.

It wasn't pleasant thinking about what could (should) have been, so I forced my mind back to these obscure written words.

"As much as we like to preserve Elfangor's ego, I'm going to the store so my son doesn't fail his exam."

"You have to give me some time to understand this!" I protested.

Matilda stood up. "His exam is this Friday. I'm not going to risk that by Thursday night, you won't understand that anymore than you do now."

"What kind of standard are you setting if you allow him to get a cheat sheet?" I said back.

"It's not a cheat. It's an aid. And hopefully he'll be seeing that it's more important to get help, not let his ego get in the way."

"Maybe he'll be seeing that if you can't get it right away, instead of trying, to just take the easy road."

"Hey, we've been trying for over an hour!"

"One hour!" I scoffed. "That is hardly any effort."

"For a high schooler and his mother, yes it is."

"Hey, I don't actually care," Tobias put it. "I bet Mom's just buying that so she can understand that story."

"Don't make me send you to your room!"

Tobias laughed. "See?" he said to me. "It's driving her nuts."

"You might not be entirely incorrect."

Matilda made a sound, pushing past me to get her purse. "For that, I'm not getting either of you a candy bar! The things I pu—Ahh! Erek!" she yelled.

"Sorry, Loren. I did not mean to startle you."

"You entered without permission. How very rude," I scolded, turning to look at him. Despite my words, I realized something serious was occurring.

"I apologize, Prince Elfangor. But I have dire news. The Yeerks have repaired the Helmacron ship and are using it to track the morphing energy."

"They are?" I said, trying to work my brain around the fact that the Yeerks were somehow manipulating the Helmacron ship. Were they using very small tweezers? No, Elfangor, that would be silly. A simple connection …

"What? They could find the blue box, then?" Matilda interrupted.

"That is their plan," Erek said.

Tobias stood up. "We can't let the Yeerks get it, but if they can track it –"

"Calm down. I put it in a box to shield the radiation," I informed them. "Or at least the majority of it. I should think whatever escapes would be indistinguishable from regular background radiation. I did not want to deal with Helmacrons again, after all."

Erek nodded with approval. "It would explain why they haven't been able to get a strong lock except for a few minutes."

"It could track us when we morph? That's what happened before," Tobias said. "The Helmacrons knew we could morph."

"So the Yeerks could hunt us with that ship," Matilda said, "especially since some of us morph more than others." She gave me a worried look.

"Aximili!" I blurted. "You said they did get a lock."

"They lost it before they could arrive, but yes, they did get one."

Worry ate at me. My brother was out there, in danger, and he was not even aware of it. Perhaps now he was relatively safe, but if the Yeerks got close enough to him, perhaps the ship would be able to pinpoint the morphing energy he emitted. They would be able to take him. "We have to find him and warn him. And the others, of course."

"I'll warn them," Erek volunteered. Yes, he could move faster than any of us. He cocked his head to the side and then added, "I believe your brother is in the mall. One of the Chee think they see him at the food court."

"You mean they're not certain?" Tobias asked, trying to contain his humor and disbelief. No doubt anyone who has once seen my brother in a food court would not fail to recognize him again.

Erek grinned. "I will warn the others. Should I tell them anything?"

"We'll meet at Aximili's scoop." It wouldn't be wise to meet here. Too much morphing around this house would arouse suspicion. "Tell them to come as safely as possible." With the Escafil device relatively safe, there was no need to rush. While Aximili and I were at an uncomfortable level of danger, as a group, we weren't threatened. We could calmly think this through.

It would be a novel experience, all in all.

[~.~.~]

"What are you doing?"

‹Reading.›

Matilda scoffed. "I can see that. Is that Tobias' book?"

‹Yes.›

"Are you still trying to understand that?" she laughed, sitting on my bed.

I rolled a stalk at her and sniffed. ‹I understand it perfectly.› Well, as much as an Andalite can understand human literature, when the footnotes stop being helpful. I was adding more so Tobias might understand better.

"Right." She didn't believe me, looking over my shoulder. "You wrote in his book!"

‹Only helpful hints and small summaries.› That's what the margins in books were for, after all.

"In pen!"

‹Pencil fades.›

Matilda kicked me in the side. "We're going to have to buy the school a new book, now, and he's going to get in trouble. Defacing school property."

‹Don't kick me. Your shoes are pointy.›

"Big baby. So you really understand it?"

I straightened and gave her a look. ‹Yes. It is not difficult if one tries and perseveres, instead of just giving up.›

She kicked me again. "You should learn when to drop it. And just so you realize, it took you three days, so there! His exam is in two days. Your way sucks."

‹It's the principle,› I sniffed. ‹Your way will not help him read it next time. All one needs is exposure to this language.›

"And a translator chip in our thick skulls," she added, banging her knuckles on my head. I ducked away instinctively, disliking the feel of her knuckles on the tender skin by my stalks. "Don't tell me that hasn't been helping you at all. You even told me you could read different languages because of it."

‹I can read different languages because my chip received the meanings audibly,› I corrected. ‹It doesn't work like that on dead languages.›

"Whatever." She spread out on the bed. "Read me something."

‹No. There is no point, since you already understand it.›

She pouted. "Please?"

‹Why?›

"Because I asked you to. Nicely."

‹No you didn't.›

She batted her eyelashes like I had seen the younger females do to the males when they wished the males to do things. If I did not agree, it would progress to the sighs and the looks. Giving in, I sighed and flipped through the pages. ‹Any preference?›

"Nope. You pick." She rested on her stomach, feet in the air. Perhaps even with her aid, the tale had not made itself clear, and she did not know an appropriate passage. Or, more likely, she just wanted to make my life the smallest bit more difficult.

My eyes looked for a passage on the page I had turned to, and I disliked what I read at the top of the page. It was about the stadium for the battle between the two main characters, and it went into great detail about three temples. I had not cared for the descriptions of the buildings – human architecture and design was boring to my Andalite sensibilities – and doubted they would spark her interest as well. But afterwards the main characters each made their plea to a god. Yes, that was a place to start. ‹Do tell me if this bores you.›

"I will," she promised, and I was certain she would.

‹"Faireste of faire, o lady myn, venus, doughter to jove, and spouse of vulcanus, thow gladere of the mount of citheron, for thilke love thow haddest to adoon, have pitee of my bittre teeris smerte, and taak myn humble preyere at thyn herte. Allas! I ne have no langage to telle th' effectes ne the tormentz of myn helle; myn herte may myne harmes nat biwreye; I am so confus that I kan noght seye."›

Continuing the passage, it was difficult to speak the words in the Middle English they were intended to be. She was right in one sense: my translator chip had managed to decipher the language – after three days studying this piece, I would have been surprised if it hadn't! – and now I could easily transfer into other languages. If I wasn't careful, I could project the dialogue in the Modern English without meaning to. I felt such an action would detract from the piece. Even if she could not understand it, the story had been written in this way. It should be told in the same manner, in my opinion. And if it should prove her way was not helpful in the long run, well, that was not my fault, was it?

‹"This is th' effect and ende of my preyere, yif me my love, thow blisful lady deere,"› I finished the part I wished to recite. My stalk eyes looked at her face, but I wasn't sure about her expression. At the start, there was the confusion, probably because she did not understand what I was saying, but it cleared midway through. There was almost an absence of expression. Had she become angry? No, I didn't think that was it.

"That's it?" she asked quietly, meeting my turned eyes.

‹It is all I feel to read aloud. It was long enough, was it not?› I turned one of my stalks over to look around the room, having heard a noise. It was only the computer making its odd little beeps.

"Yeah." She smiled. "You might think I'm lying, but by the end, I almost understood you."

‹See? All one needs is exposure.› I closed the book. ‹I have finished defacing the book. You can give it back to Tobias.›

Sitting up, she took it and opened it to my work. "You just don't want to face him when he sees what you did to it. But at least your handwriting is legible for someone with seven fingers. Though you make your loopy letters funny."

‹I do not.›

She shut the book. "Yes, you do. But so does Ax, so it's an Andalite thing, not just you, so it's okay."

I wasn't sure how to take her words, so I said, ‹If Tobias has any questions, I'll be happy to help him after my run.›

Matilda grinned and pretended to think about it. "Hmm … slack off or get trapped by you explaining something for three hours? I wonder which he'll choose."

‹It wouldn't take three hours. Not unless he had a very difficult question or didn't understand.›

"I'm sure your notes will be enough, Elfangor. Thank you."

I smiled. ‹You're welcome. And I will have to have words with Aximili for giving up so easily.›

"Elfangor," she scolded. "It's not Ax's job to understand this stuff."

‹I know.› I stood and stretched, grinning. ‹But I want to see his expression.›

"You're a mean big brother."

‹I am not,› I said, amused. ‹I merely am an elder brother. There is a difference.›

"No, there isn't."

‹If I was mean, I'd make him read that.›

Matilda laughed. "Touché. Don't pick on him too much."

I started to morph so I would be allowed to leave the house. ‹Sometimes, I think I do not pick on him nearly enough.›

"Elfangor, if you make your brother cry," Matilda threatened with a laugh, "I'll kick your butt."

‹My brother is lucky to have you to defend him.›

"And he doesn't even know what I have to go through." She opened the window for me. "Behave yourself or no dessert."

With a flutter, I escaped laughing.

[~.~.~]

"Is anybody home?" I called, and I smiled as Champ bounded over to greet me home. "Aside from you." Careful not to give him a concussion from the bags hanging from my wrists, I patted his head. "Down, down, go lay down."

He obeyed me after a few seconds. It was probably because he could smell that there weren't any treats in the bags for him. I shook my head at the creature and how he chose to rest right in the largest patch of sunlight, spreading to gain all of the warmth. It was a talent I wished I had, because lying in sunlight can be vastly underrated.

I was surprised at the lack of persons in the building. On a weekend when there was no pressing Yeerk issue, there was a greater chance than naught that one of the children would breeze through for the free food and entertainment. Aximili tended to migrate over during the hours his shows ran, for, while his television had a decent picture, he enjoyed the larger screen I owed, not to mention easy assess to the refrigerator. Matilda and Tobias – though he tended to spend the odd night at his uncle's, possibly to care for his cat – lived here, so their presence was forgone. Since Matilda's vehicle had been parked in the driveway and I had been gone less than fourty-five minutes, I expected some sort of companionship. Aside from Champ.

There was no use to complain about it, so I dumped the bags on the couch, spilling the contents. There was no food in the pile – I ate the candy bar as I left the store – and nothing edible. (Shampoo and dish soap should not be ingested, no matter how tempting they smell.) Soon there were separate piles for the items that would go to different parts of the house. Among the purchases were several new kitchen utensils and a very large pan, because much cooking was necessary later in the week. There were conflicting reasons for the feast – some say it is tradition, others say it is to add enjoyment while watching a violent human sport, while many claim it is to build strength so they could do battle at shopping malls. I am of the opinion that humans need excuses to eat excessive amounts of food when no excuse is ever necessary.

The new kitchen materials were put away, though no doubt they would have to be rearranged at a later date. If I ever have to buy another house, I must make sure to buy one with a bigger kitchen. I was running out of places to put things.

I gathered the remaining purchases, which were to go upstairs into the laundry room and bathroom. Once I put them away, I would go for a run. Perhaps I would meet with Aximili, otherwise I could run to see how the Hork-Bajir were getting along. (Of course, I would leave a note so the others knew where I had gone. I would not have them worry.) Pleased with the plan and (naively) hopeful that nothing troublesome would come up, I took the steps two at a time. The laundry soap and those little sheets I've been told must be thrown in the dryer with the wet clothes – and they must also be scented mountain mist (though in my opinion they smell nothing like a mountain's mist), otherwise I have to return back to the store and get the right box – were set on the shelves, and balancing the shampoo bottles, razors, and soaps I entered the bathroom.

The yelp and accompanying splash startled me into dropping several of the items – though I did not give any startled cry of any sort! – and I blinked at the bathtub. "What are you doing? Don't you know how to knock?" Matilda accused, arms crossed over her chest.

It took me a moment to think of forming words, but I countered, "I live here! I shouldn't have to knock!"

I'll admit, it was not much of a comeback. With humans and their modesty, a few doors that were shut had to be knocked upon before entering. Aximili and I had to wear some sort of shorts and a shirt – unless we were to go swimming – especially in front of the females of the group. Even with Tobias I had to be careful where I walked. It was a strange dance to do with humans, and there were starting to be awkward moments where, after the children had spent the night, the males had to have subtle signals to remove the tissue paper from their faces. I almost bought a few styptic pencils for their use, but I wasn't sure they would know what one is for or if they would welcome me explaining it.

"I thought you were going shopping," she said.

Keeping my eyes on picking up the items, I defended myself. "I did go shopping. I bought this stuff."

"You're always gone longer when you go shopping. Did you get everything?" she asked, and I heard her sliding down into the water.

Part of me wondered if this was considered appropriate, considering our … whatever one should call it … but if she did not ask me to leave, I figured she could not feel too uncomfortable. Straightening, I set the things on the counter and looked at her. Her arms were still over her chest, but she seemed content. "Get what?"

Matilda sighed, as if I was being purposefully dense. "All of the food. For Thanksgiving."

"You did not tell me what to get, so I did not."

"Well, that explains why you were so fast," I heard her mutter, and then she rubbed her hair. "You should have gotten something. The turkey and stuffing or whatever."

"You were still making the menu!" I protested. "I did not know if I was supposed to get cranberries in the shape of a can or not, and I do not even know where to get that anyway." Jake had told Aximili it was his aunt's recipe, and my brother was interested in trying the, as he phrased it, "delicacy." (Personally, I doubted it would be, meaning no disrespect to Jake's aunt.) Matilda had laughed at Aximili's request and said she'd put it down, but I wasn't sure if her tone meant she was serious.

"As if you never bought food that wasn't on a menu," she said. "You could have bought something."

"I did buy some things." I do not know why I bothered defending myself. One of these days I will simply accept that I've done wrong when I've done nothing wrong. "And why should I buy everything? I will have to cook it."

She sloshed in the water, putting her arm onto the side of the tub and turning so her chin could rest on it. The movement gave the benefit of modesty, as I suppose I could not see anything I should not be able to. "Don't be such a baby."

"I'm not."

We stood there for a few moments while she tried to think of an appropriately cutting retort, but Matilda did not seem able and instead asked, "So what are you doing?"

"I was putting away everything."

"Yes, I see that."

"I thought you had left. I planned on running to visit the Hork-Bajir."

"Tell them hi for me."

"If you wish."

She smiled again and stared at me. And stared at me. I was wondering if she was trying to think of something else to speak about and was going to ask her, but Matilda finally broke the silence by saying, "Look, it would be a pretty tight fit, but you could hop in if that's what you want."

I blinked in surprise. "What?"

"You're just standing there." Her tone was dry, as if her statement had been perfectly logical.

My face was warming for no explainable reason. "I thought you had something else to tell me."

"No."

"My mistake."

There was another pause, and she looked at me, eyebrows raised. That meant something, but I couldn't remember what, or maybe it meant nothing and I was over-analyzing. "The invitation's still open."

"What? No, no. I'll just … leave. Yes, leave, and let you enjoy your bath. Alone." I turned and nearly hit the door frame, proof that humans had far too few eyes. I turned back around to get the door, and Matilda was hiding her smile in her forearm. "I'll be with the Hork-Bajir."

"Okay."

"I'll be back around supper."

"Gotcha."

"Enjoy your bath."

"I will."

"Bye."

"Bye."

I shut the door quickly and winced at the noise. Had I slammed it, or were my ears just over-sensitive? Stopping myself from apologizing and shaking myself mentally, I rushed down the stairs and out to the woods. I was already jogging.

A run sounded like a very good idea.

[~.~.~]

If the point of Thanksgiving was leftovers, this household failed in all aspects. If the point was to stuff one's self so it would be impossible to move, well … we succeeded in that respect. Very well. Especially Aximili and me, but the humans managed to hold their own against us.

"I am very uncomfortable. I believe I may have to demorph," my brother pronounced from the chair. I was lying on the couch, and I did not want to admit I felt the same concern. I was supposed to be the one with self-control.

"Tell me about it," Tobias groaned.

Even Champ shared our misery, or at least pretended to. (He couldn't have been fed that many scraps.) He spread out on his side by the windowseat, tail thumping every few moments, and he raised it when his owner walked in. She must have finished cleaning the kitchen – storing the small leftovers, putting dirty dishes in the sink, that sort of thing.

Matilda laughed at us. "Boys are such pigs," she teased. "I guess I was an idiot for thinking we'd have some leftovers for the rest of the kids."

"We have some," I protested, raising myself up, but it hurt my stomach and I returned to my former position. "We have Jell-o left."

"Which I'm surprised at! There's always room for Jell-o."

"No, I do not believe so," my brother said. "Unfortunately. It looked very delicious."

"Feeling sleepy from all that turkey?" Matilda asked.

"Humans feel sleepy when they imbide large quantities of food," I dismissed. "An unfortunate evolutionary trait."

"Yeah, that's what it is."

"I believe I like Thanksgiving better than Halloween," my brother said. "Unless there is another human holiday with a large feast?" He sounded so hopeful.

"We can make one for Christmas," Matilda promised.

"That would be very pleasing. Elfagnor, why did we not do this last year?"

I turned my head to give him a look. His tone was reproachful and scolding, as if I had done a terrible thing by denying him this bit of American-Earth culture. (Perhaps I had.) "It was never suggested or forced upon us." The last statement was for Matilda, who I blamed much of the current predicament on. While she had been with us this time last year, it had been at that awkward point when she was still becoming accostumed to everything. Celebrating Earth holidays had not been a concern for either of us. As an Andalite, I had little interest in the holidays past the discounts on candy, and she had been used to living alone, probably forgoing the holidays all these years. It was a depressing realization, because Loren had been very into the holidays. Before we married, her mother and she had invited me to spend the celebrations with them, even if such a time should focus on family. They had even taken me to their relatives, which was awkard. Unused to human customs, I felt out of place with no understanding of what was expected, not to mention surrounded by humans I did not know at all. If I tended to be quiet and stick close to Loren or, if desperate, her mother, I cannot be blamed, nor can I be blamed for escaping at any chance that presented itself.

I felt myself become less tense the further away we got from Loren's uncle's home, away from the noise and close walls and … and it was just too much. Desperate for air, I had asked if I could go for a walk. Loren's uncle, a man named Joseph, lent me his jacket. I had tried to say I would not need it, but I was glad he prevailed. I was not used to such temperatures. Where I lived now, it did not get so cold, and … and on my homeworld, only rare locations high in the mountains suffered these chills. An Andalite of my (former) genetics – disposed to short fur and long limbs – would have been very uncomfortable, and, as a human, I was not much better. My cheeks were stinging and turning red along with my nose – did that mean I was ill?I did not want to go back to the hospital, at all, and last time I had my face this color I had a fever. How illogical if my face presented the same symptoms if I was either too hot or too cold! Human biology was very flawed – and I had to compact into myself to conserve heat.

It did not help that Loren seemed to not mind the weather. She walked next to me, smiling, looking around. Once I focused past my discomfort, I could appreciate why. We had left the state to come here, and the different location offered a beautiful environment. The trees … they were so many different colors, it was like ho … it was very beautiful. Very beautiful, and I looked around at this wonder. I had thought Earth trees were all green, but this presented a different view. If it wasn't for the cold, I would contemplate living here, for I would gladly live in this world of beautiful trees.

"It's it beautiful?" she asked needlessly, as if reading my thoughts.

"Breath-taking," I breathed. "I had thought Earth trees were always green. This, this is almost like …" I stopped, because I did not want to remember home – former home – and I did not want Loren to feel guilty. She had no fault in my decision, and I think talking about what I left behind bothered her. I did not want her to feel uncomfortable. And if it had the added benefit that I did not have to remember, it did not hurt me.

"Why are these trees a different color? Are they merely not native to your region?" I hoped perhaps I could transplant one, or take a seed and grow the tree myself. Perhaps several of them, because while I liked the red ones best – they reminded me of a Pollmot tree – the orange and yellow and multicolored ones were very pleasing as well.

Loren shrugged. "I don't really know. They change color colors because it gets colder here when winter comes. The days are shorter and stuff. But I don't know why they're different colors. They just are."

I was confused at her explanation. "Do you mean … are the trees not always these colors?"

"No. They're usually green. It's just in fall they turn colors, before they fall off for winter."

"Oh." Disappointment welled up in me and I looked at the ground as I walked. I don't know why I felt it so strongly, but hearing that they were really just the same green trees that were everywhere on Earth, not some beautiful mirror of Andalites ones … it was stupid. But I tossed the feeling aside and looked at her, asking, "So they change these colors?"

"Yeah."

I thought about it. "It must have something to do with chlorophyll, I suppose. Less chlorophyll would lessen the green hue and let the undertones come through." The light from Earth's sun made the chlorophyll evolve in such a way that it absorbed those wavelengths of light best. Since my – former – home had two suns of different wavelengths, our plants were allowed a wider range of colored hues.

Loren accepted my explanation. "I guess. I always liked visiting my aunt and uncle now, just to see the leaves change."

"I like the red leaves best," I said decidedly, and I saw Loren hide her smile. I think she found amusement when I said what I liked, but I wanted her to know I did like things on Earth, that I was happy.

"I like them all," Loren said, "but I think the leaves that have more than one color on them. When they haven't completely changed over, you know."

I understood what she meant and looked at the scenery. We were passing a park, and there were young humans playing, yelling. They kicked the leaves and threw them at each other, chased each other like young Andalites do, having fun. I was so engrossed in looking around that I did not notice Loren was not next to me. When I turned to look for her, I was very surprised when a shower of leaves fell on my head, her laughter in my ear.

For a moment, I was confused and hurt. Why would she have done such a thing? But she was laughing, and Loren would not purposefully injure me, and I remember the children. It was a game! And Loren was already bending, tossing more of the fallen foliage at me. I blocked instinctively and tried to retaliate, but I was ill-prepared. Loren tossed her head back, laughing, before sprinting into park. I followed, amused, able to run much better after these months. When it appeared I would overtake her, she bent and tossed more leaves me. I imitated her, and it was very fun.

When we were winded, Loren turned in a circle, arms raised, before falling straight back into a large pile of the leaves. They crinkled and crackled, burying her in their fluff. Giggling, she sat up and picked some of the leaves out of her hair. "That was fun."

"Yes." I could feel the bits of leaves on me, stuck in my hair, but I did not bother removing them. It was right having leaves on one's self, natural.

Loren leaned back into the leaves, burying her arms, and said, "Fluff some leaves and relax."

"Very well," I agreed and leaned back, resting on my elbows and staring up at the blue sky and fluffy white clouds. A leaf hit my cheek and I brushed it aside, catching it in my fingers. It was a brilliant red from a maple of some sort. I was rather embarrassed that I hadn't learned all the tree varieties, but this was a different area of the country and some of these were the first time he had seen in such large numbers. No doubt my ignorance would not set me apart with other humans – Loren did not seem to know the subtleties of the trees – but part of who I was had to know. How could one not know the intricacies of the trees and the plants?

I pushed myself up and studied the leaf, causing it to twist by rubbing my thumb and forefinger. It was still soft and pliable, not like the leaves they rested in, which crinkled with our every movement.

Due to my position, even with my eyes focused on the leaf, I could see Loren's stomach, and I had to draw a quick breath when I realized her could see her skin, that her shirt had ridden up. I mentally cursed. This was an aspect of humanity I found unappealing, distracting. My mind, through no action of my own, tended towards focusing on the female form and such thoughts acted on my body in a most embarrassing fashion. No wonder there were so many humans, if their thoughts were constantly interrupted by ideas of the opposite sex!

The thoughts were acting on my body, and I shifted slightly. The leaves sounded like explosions in my ears, as if they would draw her attention and Loren would realize with horror how my thoughts were tending. I gulped, hoping that I was being ridiculous, but I was not sure if humans could read such thoughts. An Andalite female might have been able to been able to pick them up, especially if I hadn't kept them as personal as I thought. But no, she did not seem to suspect, and, as if it gave me permission, my eyes stayed on her skin, and then moved upwards before I could tell myself it was improper.

Loren was still lying in the leaves, unaware of my gaze, staring up at the sky. Her hair was interwoven in the multicolored leaves, a breathtaking sight, and her cheeks and nose were red. As were her lips …

She seemed to notice my gaze and looked at me, smiling, before becoming surprised, and her face flushed. I must have embarrassed her, but I remained staring. Sometimes I thought she must have been looking at me like I looked at her, but that was probably just my human brain imagining things. Perhaps.

I looked at her lips again, wanting to kiss them. Again. Like that time when we watched the fireworks and she told me we couldn't. I wanted to, though. Sometimes, there were dreams of her lips, of the feelings, of the unknown more that could follow and always left a mess in the morning. She was looking at me with her blue, blue eyes and red lips and blond hair, lying there like in the ghost of dreams I'd had … and I was lowering myself.

And my lips were against her's, and she wasn't pushing me away. We were joined just at the spot, but it felt like it was everywhere, my eyes closing in the pleasure before opening and looking into her's. I pulled back a bit, breathing deeply through my nose, thinking I should say something. What could I say? "I apologize. I probably shouldn't have done that."

Loren blinked, looked at me. She brought her hand to my temple and started brushing my hair, and I could feel her pulling out leaves, but I didn't care. I reveled in the feeling, the tingling sensation that spread through me. "Maybe," she whispered. There was no need to talk loudly, we were so close. "You probably shouldn't do it again."

"Yes." Her fingers kept stroking my hair, and my hand moved. It had been to steady myself – I was feeling light-headed – but with an unerring motion, my fingers felt her side's exposed skin, the same skin that started all of this, and she was so warm and my fingers so cold that I touched her without thinking, wrapped my hand against her side. Her breath hitched.

This was natural. And we were so close. She had not … perhaps I could … "May I do it again, anyway?"

She gave a small, breathless laugh. "I think so." And then, with her hand still in my hair, she pulled my head down to her again for another, our lips meeting. I should have been able to tell if they had been together longer, been able to naturally monitor the time, but did time stop? No, impossible … but then again, since we had first met, Time had done funny things.

I had to breath deeper, trying to keep my bearings, when we pulled apart again, but I felt myself losing the battle when her lips pressed against my jaw and then cheek. It felt so different that when she had done it before, and then she kissed me again on the lips. But it was different. Her lips were open, her tongue flickered across my lips, and I made a sound without meaning to.

Had I fallen into a dream? The sensations … the warmth … she was against me … it was like …

It was not a dream, because suddenly there was the sound of "ewwwwws" and young giggles. Pulling apart, I saw we were surrounded by the young children, most making faces. It was like being doused in cold water, and my face felt warm with fever and, after meeting her gaze, I quickly pulled away and looked at the ground. What had I done? Stupid, stupid, foolish … fool!

"We should be getting back," Loren mumbled. No doubt she did not want to be with me anymore, after such behavior.

"Yes."

"You were kissing!" an observant boy exclaimed, causing several of the others to again burst into giggles and calls of, "Ewwww!"

"Are you going to get married?" a girl asked.

I felt even more embarrassed and even my ears were warm. She would not want me, would not have me. I was a disgrace, I ruined everything. I was a coward. And my actions … she would have nothing to do with me, I was sure.

Dimly, I hear Loren tell the children to go play, and then she took my hand, called me by my true name. I was surprised at the actions and looked at her . "Come on." She tugged my arm and I obediently followed, though I focused on the ground, the sky, anywhere but at her. I flinched both in surprise and shame when I felt her fingers in my hair again.

"You've got to get the leaves out," she smiled.

"So do you," I said automatically, then wished I hadn't. I always demanded she do things she said I had to do, unable to stop being so childish.

She did not call me on it, at least, instead smiling tolerantly. Perhaps Loren was used to it. "Yeah."

We stood in an awkward silence.

"I apologize," I said quickly, before I lost my nerve. I needed to, because if I had driven her away with my thoughtlessness, I did not … I would have been alone. "I shouldn't have … you said before … that is, I'm sorry." Except I really wasn't. It had been too pleasurable to apologize for, but I would lie about anything to keep her in my life.

"It's all right," Loren said, her voice calm. "It wasn't … that is … I'm not sorry you did it."

I straighted and looked at her, surprised. But she had said before … but that was then. It was okay now? Was it? Did that mean … what did it mean? "Really?"

Loren laughed. "Yes, really. But … but I think we shouldn't rush anything. If you know what I mean."

I didn't, but I nodded. "Of course."

She smiled. Perhaps she recognized I was lying, but Loren didn't call me on it. Instead, she took my hand and said, "Let's get back."

I agreed and privately wondered when we'd get to kiss again. Especially like we had before the children caught us. And if it could be soon.

"You know, for something I have to force on you, you really don't fight it, do you?" Matilda said cheerfully.

"I do battle too much to go looking for it."

"Chicken."

"Andalite."

"Move your legs so I can sit."

"I was here first," I replied. There were plenty of other places to sit, not including the floor, and lying vertical was the only thing that soothed my stomach.

"No, actually, I was."

"No, I was. Hence why I am here and you are not."

She must not have liked my logic, for she purposefully sat on my legs. I grunted and moved them so she could sit, albeit not comfortably, but at least my legs wouldn't be falling asleep because of her weight. I very nearly made that comment, but I recalled a list of things you do not say to Earth females and refrained.

"Weren't we supposed to have pie?" Aximili asked, as if remembering something very important. Not that pie isn't important.

"You could still eat? You just said you didn't even have room for Jell-O!" Tobias countered.

My brother's tone was solemn. "For pie, yes, I could. Elfangor made both pumpkin cheesecake and apple."

"I made the strawberry-banana split ones," Matilda added. "I'm hurt you don't remember them."

Aximili shot his head at her. "What are these?"

"Your brother didn't tell you?"

"They were supposed to be a surprise," I said, defensive.

Matilda poked her finger into my stomach. "Is this the kind of surprise where you never tell him and get all the pies to yourself?"

I batted her hand away. "I'd stop doing that, if I was you."

"Baby."

It may have been childish, perhaps it even proved her point, but I shifted my legs so that it was either a small kick or I ended up pressing her into the armrest. The action did not make her uncomfortable, at least not for long, and she gave me a look but did not say anything.

"So we do have pie? Lots of pie?" my brother asked, and I thought his tone was giving me an evil eye. Did he believe I was withholding pie from him, that I was that kind of brother? How dare he! I do not know why I even try to surprise him, if I get this sort of reception.

"Yes, we have pie. If you actually paid attention to things not on the table, you'd have noticed the covered boxes on the counter," I replied.

"Be nice. It's Thanksgiving."

Tobias countered, more in jest than anything else. "I thought this was when everyone was supposed to fight."

"Only over who gets the drumsticks," Matilda explained.

"That's easy," I said. "Whomever grabs it the fastest."

Aximili might have been confused. "I thought this was merely a celebration of the landing of the settlers on this continent. Cassie said we had to say what we were thankful of. I am thankful we do have pie."

I was going to have to give him permission to eat them soon. "As am I."

"You're supposed to say you're thankful for things that are more important," Matilda said with a laugh. "Not that pie isn't important. Like I'm thankful I'm here with my son."

Though it was impossible, I thought I could hear Tobias blush. "And I'm thankful you're here too," he said, embarrassed and awkward, unused to sharing personal feelings but making the effort.

My brother was willing to take part in the practice. "I am thankful the Yeerks are not winning this war. We most likely would not have been able to do this, otherwise. And am I thankful to have met all of you."

After returning his words, there was a quiet. Eyes closed and not smiling as I imagined their various waiting expression, I made no response until I was very savagely poked. "I am thankful I am not dead. Yet."

"If you don't take this seriously, we can fix that," Matilda scolded, poking me again.

"I was serious," I said, opening an eye. "Dying tends to put a very big damper on being able to do things I enjoying. Though sometimes I think the company might be better," I said, catching her wrist before she could harm me again.

She tried to pull her hand away. "Assuming St. Peter even lets you through the gate."

"Stop poking me."

"Then start behaving. And sit up so I can have some of the couch."

"I was here first, and you have some of the couch, right there. And don't poke me!" Humans and their two arms! She held her other arm outside of my reach and stuck her tongue out.

Tobias laughed. "You know, I thought Marco and Rachel were childish, but sometimes you guys really outdo them. Like, by a lot."

Matilda pulled hard and I released her hand, feeling a little embarrassed for acting so, but it evaporated when she replied primly, "It's only because Elfangor can only respond when someone acts like his mental equal."

Pushing myself up, I shot back. "You start –"

She interrupted me, standing and breezily saying, "I want some pie." And then she left, my brother following her like an eager puppy.

I realized my mouth was open when Tobias gave a laugh, and I snapped it closed. "Well, she does," I said after a long pause, but it had to be said, even if it was just to Tobias.

He laughed again, and I realized it sounded like her laugh. Except different, which was normal. "Sure she does, Elfangor."

Was he patronizing me or siding with me? I wasn't sure. Did it even matter? "Your mother is very exasperating. Humans are, but she takes it to extremes."

"I know, but we love her anyway."

"Which she should be thankful for," I muttered. I could hear the cutting of pie in the kitchen, and the smells, muted before because of the covers, wafted in the air. Despite my stomach's protests that it could not extend any further, it was all very tempting.

Tobias must have recognized the internal conflict I was facing. "If you can't get up, I can get you a piece."

"I can manage. You had best get in there before Aximili finishes the whole lot of them."

It was the truth and he disappeared. It took me longer to follow, because bending at the stomach hurt. It was necassary to do a complicated sliding motion to get into a standing position, and I was glad the others had not witnessed my acrobatics – I nearly knock over a lamp, bruising the back of my hand, but I caught it before it crashed – but I got to my feet. Champ had raised his head to look at me, head cocked in his curious fashion.

"You did not see anything," I told him, and he dropped his head in agreement. "Good dog. When the others go to sleep, I'll give you some gravy." There was no harm in a little bribery, and Champ gave a whine. Smiling at him, I went into the kitchen.

The scene in the kitchen that greeted me made me shake my head. It was such a human scene, like one from the old black and white sitcoms, the family sitting in the kitchen, eating dinner, the mother serving food and smiling, the children being children. Part of it could have felt like home, even if it all was too human.

"Do you want pie or not?" Matilda asked, even as she held out a plate for me with her banana split pie, the whipped cream half off. If I thought the portion was too small, I allowed the idea that perhaps she thought giving me a small piece would not upset my stomach as much as a large.

"Thank you." I took the plate and silverware, but did not sit at the table or immediately start ingesting it. Instead, I merely poked at it, because my stomach did need time to settle. Unlike my brother's morph, apparently my human form had limits.

"It's not poisoned, you know," she said, and I looked at her.

"That's good to know. I'm thankful for that."

She shook her head at me. "Ass."

"Andalite."

"Same thing. Oh, no offense, Ax."

My brother raised his head, mouth and chin covered in pie crumbs. "I am not offend, Loren. I know you are not speaking of me."

"That's right. You're well-behaved."

No, my brother a troublesome little meddler who'd become a turncoat for a tootsie-roll. But I didn't say that. I merely made my gaze state it, though Aximili did not see it, going back to his pie. Yet I would not doubt he felt it digging into his back.

Matilda's pie was good, if a little too heavy on the whipped cream. Not that that was a bad thing, mind, but it did overwhelm the banana and strawberry slices. I had to eat slowly, but some things should be savored. This dessert might not be one of them, but if someone should question why I was not eating like Aximili was, I would say that. No one would ask, but I could say it. "Your pie is very good. No poison or anything."

For a moment, she looked like she was going to say something, but at the last moment changed her mind. "Thanks. I found the recipe in a magazine."

"It is good," I repeated, stupidly feeling like I had to repeat myself, awkward. My stomach, filled to the brim, felt worse, and I had to stop eating for a moment. "I'm … thankful you found it."

Aximili voiced his agreement, and he added, "I like these Earth holidays. There should be more of them."

"Yeah, more days off from school."

"Christmas is in a month and you get like two weeks off then. You don't need more," his mother said good-naturedly.

"Though keep in mind, the more time off you have, the more time you have to fight Yeerks. I cannot drag you out of school all the time," I pointed out. "School is, in more ways than one, your salvation."

Tobias shot me a look, one that was a mirror of his mother's when I said something she didn't like. "Great, either way I'm surrounded by Yeerks."

"One side does have less chance of death," Matilda pointed out.

With typical human teenage melodrama, he said, "Death by boredom."

"Shush."

I looked at him. "Yes. I am very relieved that none of you had died." It was a rare accomplishment, if it should be called that, for us to not have lost any of our numbers so long into our fight. After my comment, the seriousness held in the air, and, trying to lighten the mood, I added, "Or died permanently. Whichever is truer."

"We have been lucky," Matilda said quietly, putting a hand on Tobias' shoulder. I thought she wanted to do more, but children at his age never want it.

"Thanks to you, Elfangor," Aximili said.

"No. You all are great warriors. My presense or absence would not change that, I am sure."

By their expressions, they did not seem to believe me. I didn't speak lightly. Without me, they may have been in a little green and a bit more careless, but together, there was a natural appitude between them. Of course, without me, they would not be in this fight. They would have been normal humans. Aximili may have been on another Dome ship, earning his honors, not stranded on this primitive planet.

"Maybe you're right. I mean, you're not that important," Matilda said, cutting another piece of pie.

I blinked at her. That's not what I meant, at all.

"But we're glad you're here in any case. Thankful, even. After all, no one makes a pie like you do," she continued, smirking.

"That is true." After a bite into my own pie, I added, "And certainly not you."

"You were right, Tobias," Aximili said when Matilda made a sound.

He looked at Aximili. "About what?"

"They are worse than Marco and Rachel."

Matilda sputtered a laugh, covering her mouth to keep crumbs from spraying, while I leveled my gaze at the impertinent aristh. "Just for that, you get dish duty. All of them."

The sink and counter had a large pile waiting for the unlucky soul. My brother looked at it, then back at me trying to figure out if I was being serious. Normally I did not have – trust – him do the dishes. "Could I merely have a tail practice?" he finally asked.

"You think it would be easier?" I asked, surprised.

"It would be quicker."

[~.~.~]