“Stal.â€
The little chocobo looked up at the soft voice, and cried out happily. “KWEH!â€
He rushed to her side, but then slowed as he came nearer. Gently, slowly, he pushed his head into her, nuzzling her face softly.
She had come back, his little master. He was glad. But still, something was still not right. She felt too hot. Her eyes were watery. Not bright. She was not steady. She trembled. And he had understood.
Sickness.
She was sick. Instinct had told him to run away, but he would not. He could not protect her from sickness. But still he would not run. Instead, he stayed close. As close as the other small one would allow. He would not allow the chocobo into the building, so Stalwart could not cuddle his little master close as she slept. But he offered her what support he could.
“Kwoo,†he called softly, comfortingly, gently butting his head against his little master’s chest. She chuckled softly at his antics and smoothed his crest feathers soothingly.
“ ‘M alright, Stal,†she told him quietly. “Just tired.â€
He did not understand the words, but cooed in response to them.
“No, really. ‘M fine. Just… wanted ta feel the wind. ‘S stuffy inside.â€
Her voice wavered just a bit. It was not good. Concerned, he pulled back just a little, gently grooming her the soft not-feathers on her head with his beak. She batted at him weakly.
“Hey, stop. ‘M not needin choco drool in my hair,†she whined, closing her eyes against a wave of dizziness. Sensing it, the chocobo dropped to the ground, using his body to steady her, so that she did not fall.
“Oh…â€
Sickness. She was sick. He knew. She needed to sleep. To rest, and be cared for, to get better. She was too hot. It was cold for her outside, she needed shelter. He looked around, but no one was there. Gently, carefully, he urged her towards the door to the house, but she refused to go.
“No, ‘s stuffy.â€
Unable to fight, she eventually settled against the door frame, sitting on the wooden floor of the stoop. Carefully, he settled around her, trying to shield her from the wind. She clutched at him, and sobbed weakly, and water fell weakly from her eyes. She was hot, too hot, and it was not comfortable for him. But he would endure it, for her.
As she fell asleep, she muttered under her breath. “...home… wanna go… home…â€
Home. He knew that word. Home was not here. Here was a place with the ocean smell everywhere. Fish and farms, and people with books. Home was different. Home smelled of trees, and shady plants. Home was far from here. But he thought he knew how to get there.
He looked down at his little sleeping master, clutching at him. Determination stirred in his heart.
Home. She wanted home. If she wanted home, then he would take her home. But first, she needed rest.
He watched her sleep. And waited for her to wake up.
The little chocobo looked up at the soft voice, and cried out happily. “KWEH!â€
He rushed to her side, but then slowed as he came nearer. Gently, slowly, he pushed his head into her, nuzzling her face softly.
She had come back, his little master. He was glad. But still, something was still not right. She felt too hot. Her eyes were watery. Not bright. She was not steady. She trembled. And he had understood.
Sickness.
She was sick. Instinct had told him to run away, but he would not. He could not protect her from sickness. But still he would not run. Instead, he stayed close. As close as the other small one would allow. He would not allow the chocobo into the building, so Stalwart could not cuddle his little master close as she slept. But he offered her what support he could.
“Kwoo,†he called softly, comfortingly, gently butting his head against his little master’s chest. She chuckled softly at his antics and smoothed his crest feathers soothingly.
“ ‘M alright, Stal,†she told him quietly. “Just tired.â€
He did not understand the words, but cooed in response to them.
“No, really. ‘M fine. Just… wanted ta feel the wind. ‘S stuffy inside.â€
Her voice wavered just a bit. It was not good. Concerned, he pulled back just a little, gently grooming her the soft not-feathers on her head with his beak. She batted at him weakly.
“Hey, stop. ‘M not needin choco drool in my hair,†she whined, closing her eyes against a wave of dizziness. Sensing it, the chocobo dropped to the ground, using his body to steady her, so that she did not fall.
“Oh…â€
Sickness. She was sick. He knew. She needed to sleep. To rest, and be cared for, to get better. She was too hot. It was cold for her outside, she needed shelter. He looked around, but no one was there. Gently, carefully, he urged her towards the door to the house, but she refused to go.
“No, ‘s stuffy.â€
Unable to fight, she eventually settled against the door frame, sitting on the wooden floor of the stoop. Carefully, he settled around her, trying to shield her from the wind. She clutched at him, and sobbed weakly, and water fell weakly from her eyes. She was hot, too hot, and it was not comfortable for him. But he would endure it, for her.
As she fell asleep, she muttered under her breath. “...home… wanna go… home…â€
Home. He knew that word. Home was not here. Here was a place with the ocean smell everywhere. Fish and farms, and people with books. Home was different. Home smelled of trees, and shady plants. Home was far from here. But he thought he knew how to get there.
He looked down at his little sleeping master, clutching at him. Determination stirred in his heart.
Home. She wanted home. If she wanted home, then he would take her home. But first, she needed rest.
He watched her sleep. And waited for her to wake up.
