Three scores. The bark split painfully like skin, the tree's flesh damaged beneath. Sap oozed down its surface in a similar fashion to blood. Slate's hand guided her own to the injured tree's surface. 'Tell me what it's from.'

"Bobcat.." she articulated, allowing her digits to run over the reasonably deep gashes. Krissa scrunched up her face. The male grunted gently in his throat. Rain quietly fell around them. 'Marking its terf, stretching its claws.'

Slate shifted beside her and nodded his massive head. His hand drew away from her own. 'What else?'

Thunder rumbled softly in the clouds above the canopy. The ravenette took a deep breath in, her eyes slowly washing over the surrounding trees. The meadow was rocky and the land uneven, trees blocking out the gunmetal light above. Krissa inhaled deeply, shifting her legs up under herself. "A male. He sprayed .." she trailed, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

'Two days ago- old,' the ape answered, finishing her sentence for her. Krissa sighed deeply, wilting slightly. Noticing her dwindling confidence, the chinobo chuffed soothingly. 'You're learning fast. Just need to focus more.'

Krissa nodded and nibbled on her bottom lip. Silence fell and she trailed her fingers over the claw marks once again. Her nail began to dig into the soft, spongy bark, deeper and deeper, until she suddenly felt something lodge itself up into her nail bed. Grunting, she drew away quickly, the splinter in her skin throbbing painfully. Having noticed her sudden distress, Slate's hand shot out. The male snatched hold of her wrist and drew it up to his eyes, examining her injured finger. Nostrils flaring, the male let out a huff, which she felt ghost across her chilled cheeks. Instead of scolding her however, he proceeded to remove the short piece of wood that stuck out of her skin. With a toss, the splinter went flying, leaving only a small bead of blood. The pain.. she couldn't feel it. Tilting her head up to his own, their gazes met and the air stirred between the two.

His breath was hot on her freckled face.

Air.

The ravenette attempted to sign someone's name- anybody's name- but somehow muddled her letters, combining both Sparrow and Maurice's name into one incoherent mess. The distinct chemical tang of sanitizer filled her nostrils and pooled in her lungs. The first thing she noticed was the peeling paint on the ceiling. Crisp linen caught her rough, dirty fingers. Krissa's eyes drifted downward to study the surface beneath her touch. Her tanned hands were scuffed up and tacky with crimson, her nails caked in deep red. Initially the ravenette planned to sit up, but as soon as she moved upright, her head ached something awful and she had to lay back down. Krissa's lips parted, but each time she attempted to move her swollen vocal chords, they tightened painfully. Why couldn't she speak? Her neck felt as if she had just fallen upon it several times over, muscles strained and tense. Rolling her head upon it's joint, she could feel something tight restricting her and immediately brought her fingers to the source of her irritation. Thick cotton wrapped around Krissa's slender neck, the gauze creating a barrier between the outside air and the deep laceration left behind by the sharp blade of a spear.

Slowly, she pulled herself forward, carefully resting her back propped up against the goose-down pillow at her back. Krissa's chartreuse eyes washing over her surroundings, taking note of where she was exactly. The walls were covered in parchment wallpaper, decorated with pink and red blossoms with worn green stems, and supple leaves. Yellowed and fragile it was, most likely from years of smoking. That, or simply from age. Her hands drifted out and she ran her nails over its smooth surface. She had almost forgotten what a wall had felt like. Beside her was a table with a kerosene lamp, the smell of its fuel pummelling her senses with its strong perfume. How had she gotten here? What could she remember?

She had been sleeping, that was what Krissa remembered. What else? Her mind strained for anything, yet it was no use. All she could really recall were faint and foggy memories. Krissa had been all but ready to give up on searching for a reason for her to be here, back within a home with four walls, when it all came back in an avalanche of sound and silence: the smell of rain, the rumbling thunder, the hunt. The crackling of fire and the wind pumping in and out of her lungs with the ferocity of a hurricane. The feeling of a warm, large hand enveloping her own. Krissa brought her digits together and pressed them to the bridge of her nose.

At first she had thought it was Slate coming to check on her in her sleep- perhaps she was snoring, perhaps she had been whimpering. Regardless, it hadn't been him. It had been someone smaller- someone with gentle, sad eyes. "Are.. you sure?" The words were faint and soft, whistling as they exited Poppy's lips. Krissa's lids had grown heavy, and although it took her a moment to pull herself back to reality, she was quickly awakened by a fervent, screaming pain resonating from her nape- a pain of which she had never felt before in her life. Her hands immediately clawed at the pulsing wound, struggling to keep the endless stream of crimson inside of her severed flesh. Pine's milky eye was next, coming into view, a numb and hollow look upon his face.

The eldest outcross twin seemed to have just finished up something that had long since needed to be done, since the very beginning. Perhaps that was something she had been blind to? Maybe she had never belonged there in the first place. At least, not while she was alive.

Returning to the moment, Krissa hugged herself and shivered. Settled not far from her reach (something she had completely missed until now) was a gleaming glass of water. Her mouth was parched and yet she was almost afraid to attempt to drink anything. Extending a hand, she explored the cool surface of the crystalline cup. It seemed simple and safe enough. Now curious, Krissa brought the rim to her lips and then cautiously tipped it back, taking in a small bit of the liquid inside. She sighed softly. The little droplet she had taken was rain to the dry desert which was her tongue; Krissa immediately abandoned any demure within her conscience and drank greedily, in large gulps, ignoring the way her larynx complained. It felt so good. Polishing off the glass, she eased back against the old rickety bedframe and rested her head. The soft tickling of a clock caught her attention.

It was nearly 7:15. Unsure of whether this was morning or evening, Krissa hauled her stiff body up and tried to pull the sheets back. Her strength was severely depleted, given that she had to stop for a moment to catch her breath. Swallowing thickly, she struggled out of the blankets. Only then did she catch sight of the cotton ball taped to her arm. She felt her stomach flip. Somebody had given her blood.

Somebody had saved her life.

Krissa gulped for more air and scrambled - with little finesse- to her feet. Wobbling, she managed to fall into the nearest wall and use it in order to support herself as she plodded forward. The door. She had to get to the door. It took her five steps to close the distance between her and the exit. The handle was cold and foreign to her; after so many years of being outside with natural things, like the feeling of moss or mud. She fought back a shiver and turned the doorknob, opening it carefully without a sound. Quickly she stumbled down the hall, moving as fast as her adrenaline-driven legs could carry her. Her breaths came in unsteady gulps, air wheezing through her windpipe as she struggled just to walk. Rounding the corner, she was just approaching a set of stairs when the floorboards creaked. Krissa turned her wild head of raven to peer over her shoulder.

Her eyes fell upon a woman. She was slender with long brown hair and chocolate skin. "Miss?"

Krissa took a step back, careening toward the staircase and then tripping. The ravenette fell back on her bare behind, the long brown t-shirt flying up. Embarrassed, she quickly scrambled to cover herself. The woman approached slowly, as if coming toward a wild animal, raising her hands. She had to be about Krissa's age, by the look of her. "It's okay... I'm not going to hurt you. I'm Molly, your nurse," the woman eased. "Nic is just downstairs- I can call him if you'd like."

"Nic?" she uttered, voice guttural. Pain shot through her throat and she whimpered, hand reaching for her neck. Her hands quickly gestured in frustration, seeing as it was the only way to speak at this moment. 'It hurts!'

Molly stopped in her tracks. "You can speak sign language?"

'Do you know any?' she asked, suddenly eager. 'Where am I? How did I get here?'

The girl stared. Krissa suspected she didn't understand.

Molly's lips parted in an apologetic manner. "Look... I know it's going to be hard to talk, but you'll just have to take it easy for now," Molly suggested, her voice cool and calm. Extending a hand, she offered her a helping extremity. The injured woman glanced between Molly's hand and her oval-shaped face. Her brown eyes were kind. "Don't worry Krissa. I'm just here to help."

After a few moments of hesitation, she finally took her slender hand and allowed her to hoist her to a set of unsteady feed. Molly was shorter than her, standing about at chest-level. Her smile never ceased as she helped her back down to the noxious bedroom. "I know this isn't your home, but it might just have to do for now," the smaller woman assured, helping her rest back upon the bed. Once situated, Molly left her side and moved to open the small window on the wall parallel to the door. "You're lucky that Nic got you here in time." Grunting as she reached up on her tiptoes, she pulled the latch open and cranked the pane inward, the cool morning air filtering in. "You had lost a lot of blood and we were worried that you might be anaemic when you came in."

Taking a deep breath in, she shut her eyes and felt an ache down deep in his chest. She wanted to bury her feet in the earth, but instead all she had was linen. Molly snapped her from her thoughts. The woman planted herself down at her bedside and Krissa drew back from her slightly. The woman's eyes scrutinised her for a moment, washing over her features and exploring them thoroughly, until they rested upon the scar that Slate had left on her cheek.

Molly reached out and rested her fingers there, running them along the length of the shallow mark. "You've been through a lot, huh?" she asked. Drawing back, her hand hovered. "How long were you with them?"

Krissa pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders. She didn't want to give out any information... their solitude was their best strength when it came to survival, and ergo, it made sense to keep that a secret. Molly hummed softly, brows furrowing deeply. Tilting her chin down, she gave a curious look. "Can you at least tell me whether they talk or not?"

Whether they talk? Wasn't it a given? Surely the human colonies knew that they could all speak just as well as a human could. Well, maybe not as fluently as a human, but.. Krissa pondered. She swallowed thick in her tender throat and wiggled her shoulders again. How come every other human she met lately asked her about them?

Movement within the doorway caught Krissa's eye and her head turned. Stepping inside were two men: one familiar and one a stranger. The stranger was tall with a partially shaved head of blonde hair. He had a few piercing on his left ear and his eyebrow. The other was Nic. He expressed something close to joy when he saw her, crossing the room and setting down the steaming mug of hot tea at her bedside. Then he scooted up beside Molly. Uncomfortable with all the attention, she eyed them warily.

"How are you feeling?" asked Nic. Her eyes flitted to his face. Krissa allowed her hand to drift toward her bandage-swathed throat. The human across from her frowned, reaching a hand out and allowing his fingers to brush the heavy gauze. Flinching, she sank back against her pillow, long nails digging into her thighs. The contact was unwanted, and Nic knew it, yet his lips still parted and his eyes held a look of hurt. Her body shivered slightly and she brought her hands up, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Pi-n-e" she croaked, cringing with each breathy rasp.

Turning to Molly, Nic gave the stranger a wave of his hand, urging her to leave. The girl, although entranced by the interaction, nodded vaguely and hastily made her way out of the room. The door shut and just as quickly, Nic's hand shot out. At first she jolted in surprise and fright, seeing as she was in a weak state. His hand latched onto her wrist, feeling so alien and smooth against her flesh; he pulled her closer and held her to him. At first Krissa became rigid as a board, but then she softened slightly and buried herself into the crook of his body. They sat awkwardly yet so comfortably for a little while. Eventually though, the ravenette brought her hands to clutch the man's clothing, nestling her face into his supple shirt. He smelled like wood smoke.

"Let's just forget what Pine did for a minute," he murmured softly into her dark curls. Krissa felt her injured throat tighten painfully and shook her head. She couldn't forget, even if she remembered only a little. Nic seemed a bit crestfallen at this, his posture wilting slightly. His arms tightened around her and she adjusted slightly in discomfort. Was he disappointed that she couldn't shake the memories? Or was it that it bothered him just as much as it did her? She sure wasn't going to ask- in fact, Kris couldn't ask even if she wanted to!

Shutting her heavy eyes, she listened to Nic's breathing, listened to the wind rattling the aperture to their right, as well as the soft drumming of the other being's heart.

Two panicked amber eyes, streaked with tears, and a face spattered with blood-

Krissa sat up so quick that the top of her head collided with Nic's jaw. The human was sent sprawling to the floor with a yelp, falling with a dull thud. "Sl-Sla- Slate!" Christ, it burned to speak, but she couldn't think of anything else at this moment. She clambered over onto her hands and knees as Nic sat up on the floor, rubbing his jaw. It seemed to be a common theme. Her hands quickly moved, signing, 'What happened to him?' She demanded that he give her an explanation. 'Is he alright? Where is Pine? Did Cornelius-'

With a grimace upon his rugged face, his hand rose and fell upon her agile extremities, bringing them to a screeching stand-still. "Slow... down..." he articulated, looking at her with wary brown eyes. The puffy dark rings beneath them gave away that he had been struggling to sleep. "We don't need you straining yourself further." Krissa had never seen him so tired and her expression immediately grew to that of concern. Her heart palpitated. Had he been losing sleep because of the incident? Because of her? Oh god, she thought, I've been so selfish. These people have done nothing but save my life, and here I'm acting as if they were the ones who cut me open.

Krissa reached out and brushed a dark tangle from his brow, a deep frown marring her features. "What's wrong, bright-eyes?" he inquired softly, peepers pinched slightly yet his features remaining soft. The young woman allowed her fingers to linger upon his face, taking note of how all his bruises were gone, save for a cut that was still healing along the bridge of his nose. Her dancing digits traced the faint scab, then down along his clammy cheek, and finally drawing away.

'You look so tired,' she signed, but Krissa knew he wouldn't understand a word. There she went again, acting as if he were familiar with the movement, with the language of American Sign. However, just as she finished her gestures, he expressing something that Krissa couldn't quite place. For a moment she recognised it as something she had once seen in Slate's face, which caused a wave of anxiety to wash over her. She swallowed thick in her swollen throat. Before she could explore this analogy any deeper, the man in front of her suddenly rose up onto the balls of his knees and then to one foot, one hand drifting to her shoulder and the other allowing its digits to tilt her heart-shaped face upwards.

Krissa's breath hitched and all at once, the man's mouth was suddenly upon her cracked, dry lips. They were warm and his kiss was full and soft. The fleeting moment ended as he drew away, testing the waters as he hovered inches from her face. Nic was trying to figure out whether she was finding this unpleasant or not. Before she could really replace the breath stolen from her, his heavily lidded eyes of mud fell shut again, and he dove in for another. Her sore neck began to grow hot as his hand ghosted over the mere lip of her injury and straight to the base of her skull, allowing her to comfortably rest in his grasp. Krissa had just began to kiss back, falling into the gentle rhythm of their deepening passion, when the moment fizzled out. Nic had been the one to pull the two of them apart, their respiration trembling ever so softly as they came down from the miasma of ardour.

"Christ, I thought I'd lost you," he murmured