The Fighter Chronicles

by Lu-oka-na-mi

Elizabeth is the forgotten Animorph, not to mention the human reincarnation of a long dead Andalite Princess. She is destined, along with the other Animorphs, to save planet Earth. But what happens when she falls for a certain Andalite? Bad summary.

8. The Question

The Question

I woke up, panting like an exhausted dog. I caught myself before I screamed. I looked around worriedly, fearing the thought that I was still in either the escape pod or the ship.

Shivering, I tried to fit the pieces about the dream all together.

It kind of reminded me of a jigsaw puzzle.

But jigsaw puzzles always took me a while to figure out.

So far, I had these pieces of my dream jigsaw puzzle, or if you prefer facts about the dream,

1. I was in space.

2. I was a freaking Andalite Princess!

3. The Yeerks were attacking my -or her- ship.

4. Apparently, I -or she- have -or has- a morph from a creature called the Giskori.

And, that's all I had.

Sighing, I let my head fell into my hands.

I suddenly caught myself thinking about Ax.

Why Ax, of all, uh, people and Andalites? I wondered.

The image of Ax floated around in my head, and I found myself blushing and my insides churning.

What… was this feeling?

Suddenly, the phone began to ring. I made a dash for it, and caught it on the second ring.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Hello, is Mr-" -I won't fill in my Dad's name, no way, because I vowed not to reveal my last name, so ha- "-there?"

"Um, no sorry," I replied.

"Can you tell him to phone me back when he gets back?" the man asked.

"Yes, of course, just let me get your -" Click. I stared at the phone, dumb-founded. He actually hung up on me!

I slid the phone back onto the phone jack and glanced up in time to see my Dad walk through the front door.

"Dad, somebody called for you, just now," I told him.

"Who?" he asked, and I only shrugged.

I stepped aside and he picked up the phone and redialled the person who had phoned him.

I trudged towards the dining room and seated myself.

"Uh-huh, yes, yes, yes I'll go there," my Dad was saying, "What's that? You want me to bring my daughter?" He shot a glance my way. "Sure, I'll ask her."

He lowered the phone and asked me, "Eliza, do you want to go to a group called The Sharing with me?"

I shrugged, "Uh, sure. Whatever. When?" I didn't receive an answer, instead my Dad began to talk on the phone again.

"Yes, she said she'll go," my Dad was saying.

Something, in my brain, was sending warnings to me, telling me not to go to The Sharing, something told me that whatever was going to happen at the place, it wasn't going to be good.