Chapter Text
“Hfreti,” the Orokam chirps. “Your still alive—a hfreti! With a…a companion? A son?”
Puffy calms herself, ears flicking about disdainfully. “My name is not hfreti,” she sniffs. “My name is Puffy. Of the hfreti bloodline, yes.”
She hesitates, wondering if she should introduce Ranboo, if she should give out ewe and neutral pronouns. Perhaps she should play it safe.
Ranboo hurries over, hood up and having shrunken as far back into his cloth layers as he can. “My name is…I am. I’m Ranboo.”
“Flock or strangers?”
“Allies,” Puffy growls in a tone that makes it clear there will be no more questions about this.
The Orokam nods to himself, grinding his teeth softly. “Why are you headed to the city of False Stars?”
“We’re drifters,” she admits, casting a worried glance behind her. Ranboo isn’t quite hiding but he isn’t quite talking either. “We’re drifters come to keep drifting.”
“Then you’ll be welcome here,” the Orokam grins. “My proper name is Rustling of the Orokam Bloodline, but call me Painter. Painter, he/him.”
“Ranboo he/they,” she flicks her tail at them. “Puffy, she…”
“Puffy, she/they,” Ranboo finishes for her. “And we’re friends.”
Puffy tries very hard not to let her tail wag at that, because she’s supposed to be intimidating right now and there’s nothing less scary than a fully grown ewe getting this happy at a few words.
It’s hard but she just barely manages to stifle the joy bubbling up.
“That’s right: friends,” she says. “And we’re sticking together until we find another ship.”
Oh.
Oh, she hadn’t really thought of that. Ranboo may want to leave her—and she could do nothing about it.
Somehow, the reminder carves out a pit of dread in her lungs, blocking away all the air.
Ranboo looks at her, brows furrowed in curious…worry? In concern. His lips are turned down in a frown. “How are we supposed to get onto the ship?” he points up at the false night.
“They’ll beam us up any minute now. Miracle was supposed to help you get here,” Painter gestures at the sleeping ehhtahn beast. Or the talon-sweeper as he called it. “But it seems like one of you delayed us.”
Ranboo flinches away as if something had dealt them a painful blow. Guilt.
Puffy brushes her unwounded shoulder against his side, clicking at Painter in disdain. “Maybe we would’ve been there sooner if one of you had explained shit. You left us flailing and expected us to find you anyways.”
Painter shrugs nonchalantly, gesturing up with a hooved hand.
Light—blank, nothing, and purely white—glints in the distance.
She calls out in alarm when she realizes it’s coming closer, grabbing Ranboo by the sleeve and dragging him away from the beam of light.
Dangerous, whispers everything in her.
Unknown, her instinct agrees.
Except—
He tugs her over. He lets go and she lets go and he…he walks away.
She follows suit, ignoring a rising whine in the back of her throat.
The light doesn’t hurt. It’s not warm. It’s not fire—electric, maybe, or fungi, or—
Puffy blinks.
They blink and they are somewhere new.
Somewhere different.