Speak

by BlndDog

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sad, Original Character
Length: 5403

An orphaned, mute colt gets his voice back.

The worst has passed for Morning Breeze. He survived the tropical fever, and he has found himself a home at the Baltimare Orphanage. He should be happy and he knows it. Even his voice has returned. Nothing is wrong...

Right?

Published 2017-09-04 02:20:06 UTC
Last updated 2017-09-04 02:20:06 UTC

Life's not fair

“Hey! Hey! Wake up! Come on! Wake up!”

It was the middle of July, and the sun was just casting the first crimson ray over the oceanfront skyscrapers of Baltimare. It was too dark even to see the alarm clock clearly.

The little colt was clinging to the edge of the top bunk with the railing wedged painfully against his ribs, his hind hooves kicking for the ladder that he had kicked over in his excitement.

“Westwind! Wake up!”

Suddenly the covers that he had been pounding on flew at him, enveloping him completely and swatting him against the wall like a gigantic wingless housefly. He fell onto one of the two desks. In the silence that followed there could be heard some sleepy mumbling from next door.

He thrashed around under the blanket until he found an exit, and looked up with a big smile. The pale pink pegasus on the second bunk glared at him with her wings flared. Her long yellow mane was a mess.

“Westwind! Listen!” He pointed at his mouth.

The anger quickly left her eyes. Stepping over the edge of her bunk, Westwind fluttered to the floor and peered into his face, gaping in wonder.

“It’s true! Listen!”

A big smile took over her face too. Westwind pulled him into the tightest hug, blankets and all.

“You’re talking!”

“I’m talking! I ca’ talk!”

She set him down on the bottom bunk, keeping a hoof on him the whole time as she sat down beside him. A stuffed seal was lying beside the pillow. Westwind passed it to him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, hugging the toy tightly and looking up at Westwind with huge eyes.

“Does it hurt at all?” She asked, pointing at his throat. “Did this just happen?”

“When I woke up I felt something was different,” he whispered. Now that he had calmed down a little Westwind had to lean in to hear him at all. “I tried to say something, and… and I heard it. It scared me, I haven't heard myself in so long. I can’t talk loud. But I have a voice! My voice is back!”

He hid his face in the stuffed animal. Happy tears streamed from his eyes.

“Don’t talk too much yet,” Westwind said, patting his shoulder. “You don’t want to lose it again.”

“I have to see Dinner Bell right now!” He said, catching Westwind before she could get up.

“She’s sleeping,” she said, putting a wing across his shoulders. “Everypony is sleeping. If you stop straining your voice now, I bet you’ll sound even better in the morning.”

Westwind took her blanket back to her bunk, but not before wrapping Morning Breeze snugly with his own bedding. He sat there for at least an hour, lulling himself back to sleep with his own whispering. Westwind could almost hear his heart's frantic pounding.

When Westwind woke up, Morning Breeze was waiting on her with her towel and brush. He was already dressed in one of his form-fitting bodysuits, a blue and red one that day. Judging by the wrinkles he had gone to sleep in it. He had even combed his mane and tail, though both were much too short to warrant the effort on most days.

“Come on!” He urged, throwing her brush onto her bunk.

Westwind frowned.

“Is that as loud as you can talk?”

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Morning Breeze still smiled, but something changed in his eyes. An old fear was back. Or rather, it had always been there. She had simply fed it a great feast.

“I’ll get better,” he hissed. Frowning, he rubbed his throat forcefully and resumed his impatient hopping. “Hurry up! I want to see Dinner Bell right now!”

Morning Breeze offered to help her, but she politely declined. In his current state the colt would likely rip off most of her mane. She stayed on her bunk and let him run amok on the floor. He had undone all his careful preparation by the time the two left their room on the fourth floor of the Baltimare Orphanage.

Despite Morning Breeze’s firm conviction to the contrary, they were quite early. The halls were nearly empty as they ran past silent play rooms and study areas, slowing down only when they passed the nursery wing. A few of the staff looked up as they passed, but none of them objected.

Dinner Bell had a suite to herself on the fifth floor, just above the infirmary. The way to her front door was a narrow, straight staircase. If the door at the bottom was closed the hall was pitch black. Even so, Westwind and Morning Breeze had no trouble clambering up the steps. After all they were regular guests.

Morning Breeze knocked frantically, calling out in his feeble voice. With the sound of his knocks echoing through the hall even Westwind could not discern what he was saying.

“Is something wrong?”

Morning Breeze struck Dinner Bell in the knee. She looked down and lifted that leg out of harm’s way. Her concern was replaced with mild annoyance, and Westwind did not blame her. With nearly a thousand children under her care it was a wonder she ever had a moment of peace.

“I can talk!” Morning Breeze said with all the effort of yelling. He beamed up at the tall unicorn mare, even taller now that she stood a step above him.

In an instant the drowsiness was gone. A magical aura surrounded Morning Breeze, lifting him gently into the air. Dinner Bell received him with one hoof.

“Come in, both of you,” she said, carrying Morning Breeze inside.

From the big windows of the dining room, looking between two business towers, one could catch a glimpse of the harbor. In the dining area were two fine oak tables, one big and one small, and an overabundance of chairs, but the apartment was otherwise modestly furnished. With her magic Dinner Bell set the smaller table for a formal breakfast, making white porcelain mugs and plates float forth from the kitchen. Westwind sat down and tried to stay out of the way. Morning Breeze never ceased talking as he floated with his hooves folded in front of him, unaware that his words had become complete gibberish. Dinner Bell sat him down on the red-cushioned chair beside Westwind and immediately poured him a glass of chilled milk.

“Drink some,” she said gently, forcing him to take the glass. “Morning Breeze, you have to slow down. I can't understand a word you're saying.”

He did as he was told, emptying the glass without stopping and letting out a satisfied sigh as he set it down on the table. He was breathing deeply as he stared at Dinner Bell, like he had just run a long race. On his face was a mix of joy and sadness and complete bewilderment. In the eight months since his arrival in Baltimare he had been completely mute. Whatever horrors he had faced before had been his secret. Though they had tried hard to teach him to write, and he had tried twice as hard to learn, a six-year-old with a little chalkboard could only communicate so much.

Dinner Bell took him on her lap and held him close. He cried for a long time. Feeling like she was intruding, Westwind went into the kitchen and lit the burner on the gas stove. She took the liberty of melting some extra butter in the pan. Dinner Bell would certainly agree that it was a special day. She even considered using the white porcelain tea set, but decided against it. Morning Breeze was just barely six years old, after all.

When she returned with the tea tray on her wing Morning Breeze was talking again, a little slower this time. He had his hooves around Dinner Bell’s neck while the mare straightened out her mane with a floating brush.

“… And then he left. And I thought he would take me with him. I wanted to go with him so bad. He was so nice to me. Not like the others. He even stopped the mate sometimes when she was really cross with me.”

“She was very unfair to you,” Dinner Bell said sadly. Her hoof traced the messy lattice of raised scars on his back, which he always kept hidden under his colorful suit— his surrogate coat. “Come on, Westwind made us breakfast.”

Without warning Morning Breeze jumped off Dinner Bell’s lap and threw his hooves around Westwind. Fortunately she had put down the tray a second prior.

“Thank you!” He hissed, kissing her cheek. “You’re the best sister ever! Thanks for talking for me, for taking care of me, for reading to me, for…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” she said, pushing him away with great difficulty, but not before kissing him on the forehead. “You needed me. And I’m not leaving you anytime soon. Sit down and eat something. I’m hungry, and I know you’re hungry too.”

Dinner Bell put a lot of cold milk and honey in Morning Breeze’s tea. He must have thought it was simply a treat. He had his toast with a mound of raspberry jam, and ate grapes as eagerly as he did the peach slices. All the while he continued to talk, or at least tried to. Westwind did her share of nodding and smiling, but the sound of his voice just became more and more unnerving to her. She knew that she would not be alone in this opinion. She needed only to look to her current companions to confirm her fears. In Dinner Bell’s eyes was an all too familiar sadness even as she smiled down at the little colt. And in Morning Breeze’s enthusiasm there was a periodic stutter and frown that betrayed his dissatisfaction.

“I wanted to tell you all… for so long. But I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t write. I tried so hard to tell you. My pictures… and my diary…”

“It’s alright,” Dinner Bell said, patting his head. “You know I’m here. If you feel up to it now, you can stay a while. I’ll cancel my plans for today.”

Morning Breeze hugged her yet again. He was almost out of tears.

“Not now,” he said. “Can I come back tonight?”

“Whenever you need to,” she said. Looking over to the bedroom door, her horn lit up. A tiny white tin floated into the room and landed on the table in front of Morning Breeze.

“These should make you feel a little better,” she said. “Take one if your voice starts to go. And don’t talk too much, okay? Keep carrying your slate, and don’t be afraid to use it. You’re still recovering.”

Morning Breeze popped one yellow lozenge in his mouth and looked up at Dinner Bell again. Suddenly he seemed rather nervous. Westwind leaned in closer. She had a feeling that he was about to say something very important.

“When can I join the singing class?”

Westwind finished the last of her tea and looked at Dinner Bell. She nodded with an uncomfortable smile, and the filly retreated to the front door while Dinner Bell pulled Morning Breeze closer and spoke to him in a softer voice. Judging from the smile on his face he did not hear her at all.

The tutor made little progress that morning. Morning Breeze was determined not to let anything ruin his good mood, and now that he had a voice he made it all too clear that he had no more interest in writing.

“I thought you liked these lessons,” said Gideon, adjusting his reading glasses and pouting jokingly. “Your diary is really good, and with pictures too. And you have such nice writing for a pony your age. I think you'll be a writer some day.”

“I don’t like it,” Morning Breeze said, looking down at the nearly table-sized piece of paper in front of him. Dinner Bell’s lemon lozenges made talking much easier. “It’s slow. It’s messy. Only the big kids understand. I don’t see anypony else taking writing! They get to sing or dance or learn instruments…”

The old griffin rested a big scaly hand across Morning Breeze’s back. He had done it many times before, but despite all his kindness and patience and trimmed talons Morning Breeze was never completely comfortable with the gesture.

“I know you’ve had a difficult few months.” He paused to examine his pupil’s face. “Yes, when Dinner Bell first invited me to teach you, it was because you were mute. We griffins have fingers so gesturing is a lot easier for us, but reading and writing works best for ponies. I suppose I'm not the best teacher…”

“It’s not you,” Morning Breeze said, looking up with flattened ears. “I like you. I liked learning to read and write. But I can talk now. And I want to sing. I want to be like everypony else, and now I can be.”

“You're an optimistic one,” Gideon said, resting a talon on his nose. He paused a moment and looked wonderingly into Morning Breeze's eyes. “I can teach you a little more. A few more lessons. You’ll find it very useful. There are some very good books in this library that you might like.”

“Westwind reads to me every night,” Morning Breeze said. “I follow along on the page, and I can read almost as fast as she can. I can read to her tonight. Everypony learns to read in school. I don’t want to learn everything now.”

“That’s no way to speak to your teacher,” Gideon said sternly.

Morning Breeze rolled his eyes, earning him a sharp tap to the nose.

“I suppose it’s a big day for you,” Gideon said, letting him go. He glanced out the big window of the second floor library. The shade trees of the courtyard blocked much of the view, which wasn’t spectacular in winter either. “If we come back to this next week, do you think you can be a little more attentive?”

“I don’t think so,” Morning Breeze said, already returning his cushion to the bin beside the door, his short tail wagging happily. “The choir’s going to be rehearsing. I’ll be busy.”

Back in his room Morning Breeze unpacked his little burlap messenger bag. He hesitated when he reached the item that had weighed him down constantly ever since the illness left him mute.

The black double-sided slate was trimmed with rubber and had a slot for his hoof. Painted in white along the top of one side was a series of simplistic pony faces with exaggerated emotions, and the numbers zero to nine. Under these were three dozen symbols and a few useful names.

The other side of the slate was blank and showed much more wear. After the first two months at the orphanage that side had become his main means of communication. He and Westwind had even worked out a system where she would read out the things he wanted others to hear. Though he loved the way she could speak with the exact inflection and tone which he intended, it had not been a flawless system. Westwind could not be with him always, and most ponies his age could not read very well. Many times he was forced to follow along in games he did not understand, or let some petty injustice pass him by.

He replaced the slate with his diving goggles and canteen, but the bag felt much too light and shapeless. He didn’t get to the end of the hallway before turning back.

He found Westwind at one of the big elm trees in the courtyard with a dozen or so others. The pegasi in the group were all up in the branches. Everyone all looked at him expectantly as he approached. Instinctively he reached for the buckle of his bag even as he drew a deep, purposeful breath.

“Hi everypony,” he whispered.

Morning Breeze frowned and put a hoof on his throat. With the sound of a few hundred children playing around him and the squeaking of carriages on the nearby street he could barely hear himself. Having done all his speaking indoors, he had not realized just how quiet he was.

A unicorn filly, slightly taller than Morning Breeze, walked up to him and leaned in closer.

“Hello,” he said again, as loud as he could. He felt the vibration in the back of his throat, but it was still little more than a hiss.

She recoiled in surprise.

“He was nicer when he didn’t talk.”

She said it loud and clear. Morning Breeze stood stiff and numb at the edge of the tree’s shade. The older kids in the group looked on with a mixture of embarrassment and horror, none more than Westwind, who came down from her branch and whacked the filly with her wing as she landed. She put a hoof on Morning Breeze’s shoulder and guided him away from the group.

In an alcove beneath the hedges along the north wall they stopped. Morning Breeze wiped his face on his sleeve and smiled.

“Thanks,” he said, hugging Westwind around her neck.

“You’re crying,” she said. She looked into his eyes thoughtfully. “Breeze, I didn’t want to tell you this. You were so happy this morning, and I know you’ve been through a lot…”

“What are you talking about?” He interrupted. His laugh came out as a quick huff as always, but he was certain that there had been a soft hum behind it this time. “I can talk now! I have a voice!”

“But…” Westwind rubbed the back of her head.

“What is it?” Morning Breeze asked. “Come on! Say it!”

She sighed.

“Do you like your voice?”

“Of course I like it!” He replied without skipping a beat. “Don’t be silly! I love it! You don’t know what it was like before! All the things I wanted to say, every moment of every day, and I couldn’t. I mean, you were there, but…”

He embraced Westwind yet again. What he was about to say could not be said from a distance. She must have sensed it too, because in a moment her strong wings enveloped him.

“When Dr. Gilead said I would never speak again…”

“I was right there in the room,” Westwind said quietly, patting his back tentatively. She disliked the feeling of his scars more than their look. From a distance it could have been mistaken for poor grooming, but touch was harder to fool. “You could barely move. We all thought you were asleep. Dr. Gilead was talking with Dinner Bell in the living room, and I was watching you. When I held you I thought you would cry yourself to death.”

“I was scared,” Morning Breeze whispered. “I wasn’t sure what was real, but I heard him say it. I was… angry. But it’s over now. It’s finally over. I have everything that’s mine.”

“Are you sure?” Westwind asked.

“Yeah,” he breathed. After a moment of silence he let her go.

The group headed out just before noon, about two dozen in all. The bigger kids led the way through the busy streets, shoving the commuters if they had to. Morning Breeze and Westwind were spared the jostling. Once they reached the boardwalks of the waterfront the going got easier. Three times as wide as a carriage lane and nearly devoid of carriages, the boardwalks were Baltimare’s main attractions. As soon as the stiff winter wind died down the boardwalks came alive with tiny restaurants and street vendors. There was a maker of glass jewellery who set up her stall every weekend, and Morning Breeze had sworn that as soon as he found a way to make some money he would buy a pendant for Dinner Bell. But with the exception of a donut stand the children were not interested in the attractions of the boardwalk that day.

Heading north, it was five kilometres to the beach. The group was soon smeared over a long stretch. Some children lingered to feed the clownish gulls or to take pictures. Morning Breeze spent most of the walk looking out to sea but maintained a purposeful gait. He was especially drawn to the docks. With the mismatched masts of a thousand ships sticking straight up into the air it looked like a gigantic diseased porcupine. Magnificent galleons, nimble sloops, and humble schooners all moored together. Even from the head of the dock they were all but indistinguishable.

He forced himself to look away. His fear of it had waned with time. In spring he could not stand being so close to the harbor. He imagined that a sailor would take him away, and how he would not be able to cry out for help. He thought that his old captain would come back looking for him. But week after week, and sometimes every day of the week he found himself on the boardwalks. The allure of treats and excitement was too much to resist, but he could not stop himself from looking over his shoulder when there were strange ponies around. He could not tell if he was getting over his fears, or just becoming jaded. Or perhaps it was the same thing.

As he thought back to his time onboard the Lady of Baltimare, a song came up in his mind. It was always that song, and he knew exactly why. But it was of no consequence. He could not yet sing.

Could he?

Morning Breeze mouthed the words at first. He glanced over to Westwind, but she was window shopping at a shop that sold model ships.

“… I heard an old sailor there singing his song; ‘Take me away boys my time is not long’…”

The sound was raspy and toneless. He stopped after a few lines and went back to watching the sea.

In its northern extreme the boardwalk merged with a wide pebbly path above piles of barnacle-coated boulders. The buildings were smaller, mostly apartments with deep, narrow windows. Eventually there were only old storage shacks amidst windswept trees and salt-tolerant grasses. Morning Breeze and Westwind were among the first to arrive at the salt-worn wooden stairs down to the beach.

“Race you down!”

Westwind launched off Morning Breeze’s back, making him stumble. The wind carried her high above the others. Then she angled herself downwards and glided straight for the water.

Morning Breeze took the steps five at a time, but the race was already lost. He threw aside his bag as he reached the sand and kept running until he was shoulder-deep in the icy water. Without stopping to acclimatize, he swam out to meet Westwind in the deep.

“That’s not fair!” he laughed as Westwind grabbed him around his chest and splashed the last patch of dry mane on his head.

After fooling around for some time Morning Breeze returned to shore for his mask. His suit did not keep him warm, but he was perhaps the least cold-sensitive child in the orphanage. After getting thrown around by ocean waves for the first five years of his life, even Dinner Bell thought at first that he would have a mistrust of water. But after a few days at the beach Morning Breeze revealed himself to be a strong swimmer. Soon after he learned how to dive he was being fished out from two or three metres by his peers. It was only when he evaded them and safely returned from six metres that everyone came to terms with the new state of things, and he was allowed to dive as long as he had a spotter at the surface.

The pebbly seafloor was mostly covered by a lawn of blue-green seaweed, garnished with large purple anemones and mussel beds. He could hear waves rolling overhead, and pebbles rattling in the deep water, and he listened intently for whale songs. Little flounders and blennies darted out from Morning Breeze’s shadow. He chased a pair of swimming clams for a while, before a slight shifting of the substrate caught his attention. Swimming down to the patch of sand, he pressed down on it with one hoof.

The seafloor beneath him came to life. It was always difficult to judge how big the creature would be until it revealed itself. Bright red Tentacles longer than the colt’s entire body rose from beneath the seaweed, stirring some sand into the water column. Anypony else would have retreated then, but Morning Breeze allowed the octopus to wrap its arms around him.

It felt him all over with its suckers and then slackened its grip, deciding that he was not food. Morning Breeze accepted one of its tentacles with one hoof and led it into the water column. It moved tentatively at first, unsure of this strange new creature that swam so clumsily yet seemed so comfortable in the water. Its mantle inflated into a graceful skirt as its last tentacle left the substrate. It stared at him with its strange, calm eyes, grasping at him occasionally. It played with the hairs of his short tail and felt the edges of his mask. It did not hinder Morning Breeze when he finally left.

Westwind met him halfway, and thanks to her powerful wings the last part of the ascent was incredibly fast. The two shot out of the water, and Morning Breeze felt the chill of the air down to his ankles before he was lowered back into the water. Westwind splayed her wings out on the surface and held his head above the water, though he was fully capable of floating on his own.

“Did you see that?” He asked after catching his breath, or at least he tried to. Westwind leaned in closer and put her ear to his lips, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to decipher the gurgling sound.

“The octopus,” he said, getting upright in the water. “Did you see it? It was big.”

“The octopus,” she said slowly, reading his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I saw it. Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Morning Breeze said. “I’m going down again. It might still be there.”

But Westwind grabbed him with one hoof under his armpit and stopped him. As he stared into her eyes Morning Breeze felt like he might cry. He knew what she wanted.

She can’t hear me.

With great solemnness he tapped her shoulder twice and raised his hooves.

“Alright,” she replied. “When you’re ready.”

The octopus did not go to him on the other dives. He could feel its eyes on him, and he thought that he saw it sometimes through the corner of his eye as he played with the baitfish and picked up seashells. It knew that he was something unnatural.

The children returned to the orphanage in the twilight, looking like little ghosts with towels wrapped around them. Morning Breeze had found a particularly large and spiny conch shell and a pendant of some kind encrusted in stony algae. Judging by its shape it could be quite nice, and he had proudly presented it to Westwind as soon as he had surfaced.

Morning Breeze’s coat and suit were both crusted with salt. White flecks filled the air when he peeled it off with Westwind’s help. They showered together, with Westwind taking care to scrub around Morning Breeze’s scars with the hard-bristle brush. He found it relaxing, and the doctor had said that it could help wear them down over time. But he was unusually docile this time. While he could not speak, he had other ways to express his exuberance. After the first month or so he had not been a shy child. But tonight he kept his eyes on his hooves and stood still in the white-tiled stall.

After they dried off Morning breeze returned the favor by preening her wings. He was a little slower this time, as he stopped occasionally to speak.

“You can hear me now, can’t you?”

“Yeah.” Westwind whispered like she was worried that she might talk over him.

“Do I sound any better than I did this morning?”

She knew the question was coming, but she hesitated nonetheless. She had already decided not to lie to him. If only he had meant exactly what he said, it would have been much easier.

“Breeze,” she said slowly, sitting up and putting her hooves on his shoulder. The colt was holding a tiny down feather between his teeth. “It’s great that you can talk again. It’s a wonderful thing, and I know you’re excited. But... and I’m not saying this to make you feel bad about yourself… I think you’re expecting too much.”

Morning Breeze let the feather fall out of his mouth. His eyes were huge. Westwind pulled him closer and took a few breaths to prepare herself for what she was about to say. She could hear his pulse and feel his coat bristling.

Never tell them that life’s not fair, she recalled Dinner Bell saying. ”Life’s not fair” means nothing. It's not comforting to hear. You already know that life isn’t fair, you kids better than anyone; there’s no point reminding yourself.

“You’ve been so strong,” Westwind said, holding him tighter as he started to shake. “You’re so hopeful, even after all that’s happened. And you were ready to move on, right from the moment we took you home from the harbor. You accepted my help right from the start. All these things make you resilient, and your progress has been amazing. You’ve recovered way faster than anyone expected. But I don’t want to see you hurt again.

“Your voice is going to come back really slowly, and nopony knows if you’ll ever get it all back. And… you might not even get to keep what you have now. But no matter how this ends I’ll be here for you, and Dinner Bell will be here for you. We love you, and nothing will change that.”

But Morning Breeze was sobbing silently. Westwind had never seen him like this before, but she had experience of it from others. He had not fretted as much when he was burning with fever or when the caustic balm was applied to his entire body to treat the parasites that had infested his skin. He could stand needles and debriding brushes. It was a deeper pain that troubled him now. More likely it had been chewing on him for months already.

“This… Isn’t… how…” Westwind covered him with her wings as he pressed his teary face into her chest. “This isn’t how it’s… supposed to…”

“Should I take you to Dinner Bell?” She suggested.

“No!” He answered immediately, his face springing up out of her feathers. Seeing the uncertainty in her face only brought on fresh tears. It was frightening to watch. A healthy child would have screamed loud enough to bring everypony in the orphanage to the room, but his voice was barely above a whisper. “I… I’m sorry. I should… I should be happy. I… I love this place. I love you… I love Dinner Bell… and you did so much for me. I don’t want to be ungrateful… or spoiled… or…”

Westwind cut him off with a heartfelt hug.

“You’re wonderful,” she said, kissing him on the forehead. “The best. I'm proud to call you my brother. Breeze, you’re not ungrateful just because you’re upset. It’s the most natural thing. I expected you to feel this way at some point, and so did Dinner Bell, and I’m glad you can admit it to me. Dinner Bell won’t think any less of you because of this. Breeze, when I tell you that I’m here for you, I mean it. When you need somepony to talk to, when you’ve had the worst day of your life, I’ll be ready to listen to you, and to comfort you. And so will Dinner Bell.”

The lantern eventually died on its own. They fell asleep together on the bottom bunk, Westwind sheltering Morning Breeze under her wings.

He was far from alright, she knew, but for the moment he was comfortable. Such moments of bliss were rare, especially for him, and Westwind knew from experience that they were the best gifts in the world.