Kits and Space Stations: Chiya and Ketvia's Story

"Mommy, where's Ketvia?"

Every morning, for the past three, Callidei had asked the same question, coming into the hatching bay with her sullen bond in tow. Chiya sighed softly, and answered the same as she had those other mornings: "She's resting, sweetheart. She doesn't feel well."

Callidei wrinkled her muzzle. Ketvia hadn't seen her once, face to face, since she'd bonded little Cyris-- or, as he insisted on being called by anyone other than Callidei, Battleworn Claw-- and Callidei didn't understand it. Chiya only marginally understood it, herself.

"She's been sick a long time... when will she get better?"

"I don't know, Callidei. Soon, I hope."

"I hope so, too...." Callidei's muzzle wrinkled again, into a cute little frown, as she thought, then she brightened, looking back up at Chiya. "Maybe if she's sick, she should see Grandpa! He's a doctor! He could fix her."

Chiya smiled, leaning down to nuzzle her firstborn. Claw, at least, put up with this because Callidei told him to, but the first time she'd tried showing her daughter affection, he'd growled at her. If Ketvia had known that, Chiya didn't know how she might react. She was set enough against the kit-- or was it pup?-- without throwing her protectiveness into the mix. "I don't think it's that kind of sickness, sweetheart... but that's a kind thought."

If only Doctor Schroeder could do something about Ketvia's "sickness", Chiya thought as Callidei took her much smaller, wolfish bond off again. Ketvia wasn't sick, not exactly, but she also hadn't gotten out of bed for three days, and had to be begged, threatened, and cajoled into eating a few bites of nourishment every night before bed-- well, before Chiya went to bed, as Ketvia hadn't gotten out of it for more than a few minutes at a time.

After the wolf-dragon hatching and Callidei's surprise bonding-- though no one knew who had initiated it, Chiya secretly believed it was Callidei herself, somehow-- Ketvia had gone on what seemed like a fairly healthy destructive rage in human form in their bedroom, judging from the : pillows had been ripped, blankets torn, books and few belongings thrown about. It had been what Chiya had expected when her friend would do, when she stalked away from the bonding, refusing to show her feelings publicly, so she'd left her friend alone, greeting Battleworn Claw warmly and praising her daughter with all the love she had, whether her kit was going to live with her or not. But when she'd given Ketvia enough time to wear her anger out, and sought her in their tiny cabin, she found the rage long gone, replaced by a depressed apathy that was more complete than any the Light had seen her friend sink into.

For she had seen her friend in similar states: they were very rare, but distinctive enough to never forget. Ketvia should not be so lethargic and sad. She should be full of life and energy, prowling around the ship, poking her nose into the hatching bay, playing with her kit....

And yet, it was her kit-- who, Chiya now realized, had meant more to her than she'd ever imagined-- which was unwittingly the source of the problem. It wasn't Callidei's fault, but her choice-- or Claw's-- had hurt her other mother, the one who never wanted to be called "mother" but still expected to fill that role.

And to think that she was comforting me about that same thing, not long ago.... It seemed that Ketvia, for all her logical words, had not come to peace with loosing kits, after all-- or, at least, not to losing that kit. Chiya sighed, shook her head, and went back to her eggs. It was, at the moment, all that she could do.

That evening, however, she made another effort. This time, she decided to take a step further: no cajoling, no trying to make her talk or eat or get up, no more entreaties. She let the door slide shut behind her, and she went right to the bed, where Ketvia lay, curled on her side, back to the door. She didn't say anything, and neither did Chiya. There were no blankets on her-- she needed none, being a Fire and able to control her own body heat, except occasionally for comfort or as the mood struck her-- so her burnished, honey-colored skin and fiery, rust-red hair lay stark and bright against the creamy white of the sheets.

And then she stood out against the beige-colored carpeting on the floor, as Chiya grabbed her feet and, in one mighty heavy, slid her friend right off the bed and onto the floor. Ketvia flailed with surprise, tangling herself with the blankets-- she'd kicked them to the floor sometime during the day, it seemed-- before settling her back against the foot of the bed and blinking blearily up at Chiya.

Chiya just smiled down at her sweetly. "I thought that maybe we should make the bed," she chirped. Ketvia just glared, in response.

Well, that was better than the nothing at all she'd been showing thus far.

The bed didn't take long to make, and Ketvia didn't help much, though Chiya didn't really expect her to. At least she moved out of the way when Chiya nudged at her to do so. "I was thinking," Chiya said as she tucked and straightened, "that maybe we could go down to the ship's cafeteria for dinner tonight, together."

Ketvia didn't answer, sitting in the floor, knees pulled up to her chest and arms folded across them.

"Or maybe we could even go off-ship, onto the station," Chiya suggested. "To that one restaurant you like so much."

Still no response. Ketvia had her chin resting on her folded arms, and she stared across the room at nothing. The glare had gone from her features, replaced by the blankness Chiya had saddeningly gotten used to. When she finished putting the bedclothes back together, she dropped to a crouch in front of her friend, putting her hands on Ketvia's elbows. "Ketvia... come on. Please talk to me...."

She looked away, putting her cheek on her arms instead of her chin. Chiya retaliated by resting her forehead against her friend's. "Ketvia, I don't like seeing you like this..." Nothing. Chiya added, "Callidei's been asking for you. Aren't you ever going to see her again?" That brought nothing but a faint shiver, a ripple across her skin, so Chiya tried again: "Our hatching is only a couple weeks away-- are you going to be up and moving again for that?"

Still nothing.

Chiya shoved herself off Ketvia's arms and stood. It hurt, she hurt, and Callidei was hurting-- and Ketvia didn't seem to care. "Then-- then just rot in here! That's what you seem to want-- so-- so just do it, then!"

She didn't stop to see what Ketvia made of her outburst, she just turned on her heel and stormed out again. She'd spend the night with her children, and Ketvia... could do whatever she wanted. Chiya couldn't say that she didn't care, but she was tired of trying to convince the Fire dragon to start living again. If Ketvia wanted to keep living, well, she could just convince herself. And if not....

Chiya didn't want think about that. She'd deal with it if Ketvia continued to let herself waste away in their cabin.

Thankfully, she didn't have to. Ketvia-- tangle-furred, gaunt, but still Ketvia awake, alert, and moving-- poked her nose into the hatching bay the next morning, doing a quick egg-count, nodding to Chiya, and briefly answering the chorus of "hello"s and "good morning"s. As if nothing had ever happened.