She is honestly regretful that she so wounded our Captain. Despite my assurances that her actions were involuntary, she continues to make low, whining sounds of distress and will not allow Jim more then four feet away at any time.
The birth, aside from the one incident, was remarkably easy and uneventful. She had a litter of four kits, a birth like any other mammal, but they were born open-eyed and active; they were up and walking within five minutes of birth. Not unusual in a predatory species and less so in one raised in such an environment. They roll around at his feet, learning essential skills they will need as adults under the pretense of play. They are quite blind; and they spend a good few minutes running into walls, their mother, one another, us, and, once, the Doctor's tricorder. (That was not well-received.) But they are intelligent and learn quickly; they do not know how to use their heightened senses as of yet, but they do not run headlong into obstacles more then once. Their fur is much softer then her own, baby fur, and their claws are already quite formidable, as are their teeth. She regurgitates their meals for them; I find it fascinating that she is able to store food for them in what is most likely a spare 'stomach', keeping it from becoming fully digested or rotting inside her for the remainder of the year.
The Doctor is at her head, for the second time petting her absently. One of the kits is chewing on his thumb, kicking his hand with hind claws- at the moment, it is no more dangerous then letting a kitten do so.
"Cute little buggers, aren't they?" He asks, freeing his hand and 'play pouncing' the kit on the head with it. There is an indignant squawk and the kit flips head over heels, recovers, and rushes him with a playful growl.
Jim chuckles, but the sound is muffled by the paw thrown over his chest. The moment the birth was over, the moment the kits were exploring and had fed, she had dragged herself over to Jim and locked him to her side with a leg. Much to the Doctor's chagrin, I will add; the moment she had grabbed the Captain by the scruff he had let out a noise I have only ever heard avian make before that moment.
She still hasn't let him go, but does not seem to be harming him; she is only treating him as she might a wounded kit. He was treated to the same grooming process the Doctor received moments earlier, much more gently. It's not as though we're able to move at the moment, at any rate- the Doctor will not allow Jim to travel uphill in the storm with his wound. He and I are, as we are more often then we admit, in perfect agreement; it is utterly illogical for Jim to risk further wound for the possibility of a better vantage point. And so we sit, and wait, and Jim is treated to a rather vigorous bath.
I shelter in the crook of her flank, grateful it is no longer cold, at least. There are enough bodies in this small cave to keep it comfortable border lining too warm. For myself, it is still cooler then I am used to, but no worse then the ship outside of my own quarters. The damp is as unpleasant as it ever was, but far more tolerable.
"They are cute, like kitt-ow!" He yanks his hand away from a particularly vigorous kit. "Careful, you little monster."
The third kit has been asleep in my lap since I sat, and the fourth is rather contentedly chewing at the tip of my boot. I see no logical reason to stop him; the boot is already quite battered.
Beneath me, abruptly, she gives a low growl, a rumbling sound of content, and brings her massive head out from under the Doctor's hand. She reaches around to touch me with the tip, as gently as she can. The Captain grunts tightly as the motion jars his arm; pats her. "Careful, big girl, let go if you want to do acrobatics." He pleads softly, but she only grips him tighter. She touches me with her nose again, and I oblige her to reach up and stroke her between the ears. She grips my arm between her jaws as I reach; I go very still and from in front of her, the Doctor stiffens, pushing up to his knees. Jim, too, has gone alert and begun to try to get free; the Doctor places a hand on his shoulder, preventing him from harming himself. But even while stilling the Captain, he has gotten to his own feet, as much as possible.
"Hey now-"
"It's quite alright, doctor." I say mildly, as there is no pain inflicted. She is simply gripping my arm- extremely lightly, but I dare not pull away. I would shred my own skin on her fangs. As I have told both the Captain and Doctor McCoy, I-Chaya was a teddy bear with six inch fangs. I am very accustomed to creatures that can badly injure you without attempting to. There is no fear; fear is illogical. She does not wish to harm me, and even if she does without intention there is little any of us can do to prevent it. Also, fearful reactions cause harm far more often then good. I have seen it. As I did with I-Chaya, I remain still and calm and quiet, meeting her eyes evenly and waiting to see what she wants.
She tugs.
The kit in my lap tumbles out gracelessly, spilling onto the cave floor with an offended squeak. The one chewing at my toe jumps back, letting out a noise that is an odd cross of a bark and a purr. The Doctor falls back as her head comes forward again, I rather involuntarily in tow. The black undershirt I wear does not stand a chance against such rough treatment; it rips quiet widely, and my skin underneath tears slightly, too. Pin-pricks of green well along the underside of my lower arm, little worse then scratches. It is only the benefit of above-average reflexes and, I must admit, rather long legs that allow me to avoid tripping over another kit and then, immediately after, her own paw. If I had fallen, I do not know if she would have ceased pulling me.
Either way, she stops now, and holds my arm a second more. The Doctor moves forward a step, and she rumbles a low warning. He freezes, sending a glance to the Captain. I can pick up easily on their apprehension and uncertainty. I ignore it the way one might ignore a persistent, annoying knocking on a door. They are not acting on those emotions, but are experienced and intelligent enough to stand ready and wait. It is hard for them; the Captain, who has made it to his feet, free of the leg that had been holding him, is visibly tense and vibrating very slightly-the Doctor keeps opening and closing his hands, and instinctive reaction, I know, for one who wants to reach for a weapon.
He has no weapon to reach for, at any rate.
She releases and begins to lick clean the minor wounds she's made.
"You okay?" The doctor asks, not moving forward wisely. The first question, always, from him. His concern for our welfare runs deep; I have been told I am lucky he is my friend. I do not need to be told. I nod, once, reclaiming my arm when I am certain she is willing to give it back. The smell is-highly unpleasant, but her saliva seems to have sealed the wounds, a natural bandage. Interesting.
"What was that all about?" Jim hisses from my left, and I hear him move before I see him. I hold up a hand quickly, uncertain what she will do if he interrupts.
"I believe she wants me to ask." I reply, as she shoves her head under my hand with a rumble.
"All that just to get your attention?" Doctor McCoy grouses, sounding thoroughly ruffled.
"She was considerably gentle, Doctor." I scold, half-turning to show him the minor wounds. She growls in displeasure and butts my shoulder, knocking me forward a step.
"Gentle." McCoy grunts from behind me, but seems satisfied that I am uninjured.
"I think she wants you to hurry." Jim remarks, now moving near the doctor's side. His arm is bound up against his chest with the remains of my shirt, not in immediate risk of re-injury, but his pain is palpable.
He has always been skilled at doing what must be done despite his physical condition; most memorable is when he lied to me about being well after an assassination attempt by a spy, only to collapse the moment the last of the adrenaline wore out of his system. He had done it out of friendship and concern, and I understood he had not lied to me out of a malicious inclination. In the end, his choice had very likely been the right one, and I had not been entirely surprised when his legs had given out and he'd been half-carried to a bed.
It is very likely adrenaline carrying him at the moment. Stubborn and proud as he is, he will not simply sit down and rest. His injury is not life threatening, but he is injured.
But I believe he is right, none the less; she does seem eager. I turn back to her and for the third time today make the connection. As I have done it twice in so short a time already, it is far easier then it was initially; simply following a pre-worn path rather then forging a new trail, to put it in understandable terms. Sometimes, this is far easier then other times; Jim, for example, from the moment I first attempted a meld with him, has never resisted me. It was almost frighteningly comfortable and simple to meld with him- and rather jarring to realize he trusts me so utterly.
The Doctor, on the other hand, is an uphill battle; perhaps from the forced invasion of his mind by my alternate persona (which I was told about the first time my attempt to meld with him resulted in the mental equivalent of a vehicle crash), or perhaps simply because he is how he is- old fashioned and stubborn. He does not mean to keep me out; he simply does, and causes pain for both of us until I can coax him into relaxing. I have long since deduced this is not a matter of trust- only that he is fiercely private, and as skittish about what he does not understand as a feral cat, complete with claws extended.
The creature is, as most other things are, a comfortable middle ground. What she has to say leaves me quiet surprised, and if I had been fully human, I might have grinned in relief.
"She can hear others." I say quietly, and the reaction behind me is immediate and loud. Both the Trejjion and I flinch minutely. Perhaps the Doctor is quieter mentally and emotionally, but verbally he can match the Captain in volume without, it seems, trying. The kits stop and stare at them, amazed by the sudden verbal assault. They are talking over each other, but I manage to gather the general idea is the same. They want to make certain she is referring to what they assume she is.
"Other humans." I confirm, modulating my own voice in the hopes that they will lower their own to hear me. Actually, she had said other hairless small ones, but 'other humans' was quite sufficient. "And she will take us to them."