She turns toward me, a muffled vidfeed in the background the only sound between us. From the drone of the voice, I assume it's a newscast.
She was never one for mincing words. "The slimes took more women. Do you remember Veentann? Her entire research team is gone."
The fur on my neck rises. Veentann is the smartest person I've ever met and should have been better protected instead of wasting away in captivity.
"There were no males?"
"There was only one. He was found with a few dead genali around him. He didn't survive."
"Venom bliss?"
"No. He was an Abstainer."
My long tail wraps around me at the mere mention of the sect, though I stop just short of hugging the tip to me like I did when I first learned about their beliefs.
They remove the end of the tail, which includes the venom delivery system, from their male kits at birth. The goal is to take away the temptation along with a male's most formidable weapon.
For every male outside their sect, it is our worst nightmare.
I wonder how many of the Abstainer kits internally rage at the disfigurement. Though of course no one would dare call it that.
Even those who disagree.
"Have you been taking the extra supplements I sent you?"
The change in subject gives me mental whiplash and I blink several times to clear my thoughts. I'm also not thrilled with the topic choice, although it shouldn't surprise me.
She lets out a displeased mew. "Your mane is looking darker than usual."
I'm quite certain my mane is the same fiery orange it has always been, but I know she's trying to take her mind off the pressing fear of the genali threat by focusing on her only kit.
Though I've long since grown past the need for hovering.
"Greetings to you as well, my dam," I tell her, ignoring her question and needling her about her notorious lack of social niceties by returning to what she left out of the very beginning of our conversation.
She narrows her golden eyes at me, leaving two small gold and orange slits and despite the distance between us I shiver at the implied threat.
She might be half my size, but no one would ever underestimate her.
"Let me see your claws."
I suppress a growl, but hold up my hands. I extend my claws, making sure she has a good view of both sets of black thumb claws by pivoting my wrists, and then I retract them again.
My superiors frown upon random scratches left on equipment and so it's best to keep them tucked away.
I wiggle all eight of my long fingers in front of my face while pushing my whiskers forward, since I can't help myself from returning to the habits of my youth.
She hums, ignoring my juvenile attempt to get a rise out of her. "What about your paws?"
I've had enough of humoring her. I'm certain she has enough information that she won't use back channels to access my medical records.
Somewhat certain.
I sigh. She already put it on her mental list for the day, I'm sure.
There's no rancor in my mind, however. Considering how many long cycles she spent waiting to find out if my sire was still alive, just to have her worst fears confirmed, I can't blame her for worrying.
"I'm perfectly healthy."
