—Blame it on the Odogaron—
In hindsight, you think this may be karma.
After killing all those Shamos, you're due to get a thrashing by something more capable of fighting back. And so this new fanged horror appears and flattens you in a flurry of scratching claws and gnashing teeth. One strike, before you even get a chance to react to the fanged predator that appears over a rise, is all it takes for everything to fade to black.
...
"You saw a what?"
You blink, taken aback by her sudden outburst. Her accent is even more evident when she's worked up, you notice. Fair cheeks are flushed and she grabs your arm, preventing you from walking further. Once again, you describe in graphic detail the vicious, lean red beast that had torn you apart in a whirlwind of teeth and flailing claws, and she doesn't even seem to register—for the second time-that you would have died today had it not been for your Palico dragging you home.
A brilliant mind is turning behind dark eyes and she's smoking like the Canteen's roasting oven. "An Odogaron," she says at last, nodding as though to confirm it with herself.
A what?
"This is wonderful. The presence of more monsters higher on the food chain indicates that the Zorah Magdaros is on the move. We need to get that airship up and running."
She takes off, heading towards the Airship Engineer, without bothering to explain and you stare after her retreating back feeling more than a little slighted. Rather than follow behind her like a loyal Palico, you meet up with your Handler, who immediately begins to ask a million questions about your health and well-being.
While her concern is appreciated, you can't help but feel even worse about the Third Fleet Master's dismissal.
The Coral Highlands is on the horizon, as it has been for a little over a week now, and you turn your back on it as you return to Astera. Your Handler congratulates you on a job well done and your Fleet Captain gives you a clap on the back that nearly sends you to the ground. It's been a busy week, mostly because you don't like being idle. It leaves too much room to think.
You retreat to your private quarters to find a grimalkyne sitting on your bed, cleaning his face with swift paws. He scurries up to you the moment you step through the doorway, a scroll tube in his paws. The moment you take it, the felyne messenger darts off without waiting for a response. You remove the stopper and are immediately hit with the familiar scent of tea leaves, which sends an unexpectedly sharp pang through you.
What does she want?
Your fingers tremble as you remove the scroll and unroll it, much to your disdain.
Hunter,
The airship is ready. Come to the Research Base immediately.
That's all. It's just like her to forgo all pleasantries, but that doesn't make you any less frustrated by the short message. Your Palico hops up onto the bed with you, rubbing his head against your chin until you pet him. It gives you a measure of comfort, but not as much as tossing the scroll into the lit firepit does.
Perhaps you'd misread her.
Or perhaps you'd only thought you were okay with being a means to an end.