RHONCHISONANT – (adj) making a snorting or snoring sound
The Jockey sat hunched in a corner, eager for the ebon female to open her sky-colored eyes, to lick fresh goblets of liquid gold from his fingers, just to move again. She had been in her state of deep sleep for what felt like ages, the occasional sniffle and sigh gracing her lips. The Jockey hoped she would awake everyday, and it hurt him to know that everyday she stayed in her catatonic state, it meant that, maybe, she didn't want to awaken.
The Immune spent many hours tending to the injured female, changing her worn bandages with a careful touch. The time he spent away from the Witch was used to hunt for food and honey. The Jockey stayed to guard the fort, his laughter keeping many brethren at bay. Who knew that such a noise could be hated by all so equally? Only the Witch had ever heard the noise and come towards him, into his sight and reach. Only she accepted his presence, annoying laughter and all.
A few times, the two males had attempted to exchange conversation, learning each other's language. Although, for the Quasimodo-resembling creature, trying to pronounce Immune noises may have been even harder than dodging a near-death drop from atop a building more than eight stories high, an irate Tank blocking the only other way off of the rooftop. He ignored the memory and simply stuck to what he knew, which was Infected.
The two would take walks along the compound, staying close enough to hear Avarice should she awaken from her slumber. The Jockey would point to objects he knew with a crooked finger and slowly pronounce the word. The Immune would try to mimic the noise as best he could, but it just didn't sound authentic. It could have been that the Infection brought forth a disease of the larynx that created a unique amount of damage. Of course, the Jockey could understand his brothers and sisters perfectly, as could Hunters to Huntresses and female Witches to males. Interspecies communication was basic, but certain words, such as "hunt" and "enemy" and "food", were different because not all Infected ate the same meat. Jockeys preferred chewy meals that had lots of meat, while Tanks enjoyed a nice, lean crunch, and Smokers went for anything "clean", as if it would purge them.
After a nice hour or so of trying to learn, they retreated inside to a meal and rest, each of them alternating nights where they kept the ebon Witch company in sleep. Tonight was the Jockey's night, but he insisted that the Immune take his place. He noticed the connection between the two, how much he cared about her. It was a foreign sensation to witness, something that he couldn't quite remember the name of. It made him warm in the chill of the night, knowing that the Immune would surely bring back their dear friend.