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                   Repainting Friendship                   
                     -by Black Paint-                      
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                   Repainting Friendship                   
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Author's Note
This is my first piece of fiction that I've written, so I have no idea if it's good or not. Seriously, leave me a comment or message me. I'd love to know what you guys think of my writing!
Special thanks to Setokaiva and Nailah for proofreading and making suggestions!
Repainting Friendship
Laughter filled the air as a group of ponies, including myself, listened to a pink earth pony mare at the end of the picnic blanket, reciting her latest jokes that she had been working on that week. Everypony was having a good time: myself, with my dark mane, thick glasses, black jacket, and grey coat with wolfish markings, rolling around with full on belly-cackling, a cerulean pegasus with a multicolored mane and an orange earth pony trying to keep each other from falling over in a fit of giggles, a white unicorn with regal purple curls chiming in with dainty, ladylike laughter, a lavender alicorn trying to keep herself from spraying the cucumber sandwich she just bit into all over the blanket, and butter yellow pegasus singing along with high-pitched, melodic giggling.
This was the first time I had met with Fluttershy’s friends, the other Elements of Harmony, and I was already feeling like part of the group. It was amazing, considering that about a year ago I probably would never have thought of myself as friends with anyone. It's rather strange, really, because I've lived in Ponyville - one of the friendliest places in Equestria - my whole life. You'd probably think I'd at least have one friend before high school ended, but no, I was so antisocial that I wouldn’t ever leave my home unless I really needed something.
It’s not because I didn’t like other ponies, it’s because I thought they wouldn’t like me. What if I said something wrong? What if I make a complete fool of myself? What if I did something to upset somepony else? What if they hate me now? The thoughts would keep cycling through my head until I eventually convinced myself that I was somepony that wasn’t worth anything to anypony.
Combine all that crippling social anxiety with mild depression, and the result would be a pony having an incredibly hard time just to find the will to live; that was me. In addition to all this weight I had been carrying, I had a secret that I’ve had with me all my life: I was born half wolf. Nopony knew how it happened, not even my parents, it just happened; my theory is that I’m a distant descendant of a member of a mythical pony tribe that lived deep in the forests of Equestria and could become wolves at will.
My secret, along with my depression and suicidal thoughts, has remained with me to this very moment that I was sharing with the six mares around me. Well, actually, the depression and suicidal thoughts have gotten significantly better from what they were, and my secret hasn’t completely remained with me. Up until about a year ago, I was the only one, besides my parents, who knew I was half wolf. But everything changed for me when I accidentally crushed Fluttershy’s petunias with a timberwolf.
The story of how our friendship started is a rather interesting one; I actually think she had a few small suspicions that I was a wolf before my first obvious reveal to her. It started a couple of years ago, when I just moved into my new house on the outskirts of Ponyville, next to the Everfree Forest. I went exploring in the woods as a wolf, just to see what was there. I bumped into Fluttershy when she was on her way back from a picnic with her critter friends, both of us recoiling in surprise. She was cute, wings brought out to the sides just the slightest amount, big teal eyes that shimmered in the light, and a small strand of her long, flowing pink mane falling out of form and hanging in front of her eyes.
“Where did you come from?” she asked, both of us knowing that wolves were not that common in the Everfree Forest; the fact that I was about twice the size of a normal wolf might have also been a little strange. I was so taken aback that I didn’t know what to do, so I did the only thing I could think of: I panicked and ran for home, which probably wasn’t the best idea.
“Wait!” she called, quickly taking after me.
I couldn’t risk her figuring out who I was, I just kept running, hoping to lose her in the dense greenery. As soon as she was out of sight, I dove into a large bush to wait for her to pass. I heard the sound of wing beats as she flew by, and they came dangerously close to the shrub in which I was hiding. After what seemed like hours, but in actuality was probably only about ten seconds, I heard the flapping fading off into the distance.
After I made sure the coast was clear, I emerged from the shrub and ran the rest of the way home. When she came to greet me later that week, as my new neighbor, she looked at me as if I reminded her of somepony she knew, but couldn’t quite place her hoof on it. I was worried she recognized me because of my markings, but if she did, she didn’t say anything. She still gave me that same look sometimes ever since the incident and from that moment on I was extremely careful whenever I left the house in wolf form.
The first time I revealed my identity to Fluttershy didn’t occur until about a year after I moved. I was walking home one night from getting my weekly groceries, wearing my signature black jacket, and passing by Fluttershy’s cottage. She was outside, getting her chickens ready for bed.
“Hi, Fluttershy!” I called.
“Hi, Paint!” she called back.
That’s my name, by the way, Paint; Black Paint to be exact. That was about as far as our conversations usually got. I always saw Fluttershy on my way back from the market, but I was too nervous or shy to ever say anything more than a simple ‘hi’ or a generic compliment. I cared for her deeply, but I felt like I could never be a good friend to her.
As we finished our exchange I turned to head on, but a rustling in the bushes caught my attention. Being half wolf, my senses are about five times as sensitive as a normal pony’s would be, so it was easy to pick up the sound of the leaves shuddering and horrible breath of an enormous timberwolf emerging from the Everfree Forest.
It gave me just enough time to turn and see it crouching in the shadows, getting ready to strike, its eyes literally glowing yellow, obviously thinking it could get an easy meal that night. The timberwolf was only a few yards away from where Fluttershy stood, who was too busy working with her hens to notice it creeping closer to her. I lost my voice, too panicked to warn the tender pegasus of the monster behind her. The wooden beast let out a low, quiet growl. The unconscious force holding back my words suddenly burst like a dam.
“Fluttershy! Behind you!” I screamed.
She quickly turned around just as the timberwolf sprang from its hiding place and started stalking towards her. She gave a small, terrified squeak as it stalked closer and closer, cornering her and her chickens against the hen house. What happened next was probably the bravest and definitely the stupidest thing I had ever done. I ditched my saddlebags, leaped over the small stream surrounding the property, over the low fence enclosing the backyard, and tackled the timberwolf. I could hear the crack of wood splintering as my hooves connected with the huge monster, sending it flying into one of the flowerbeds by the house and crushing whatever flowers were inside of it.
I felt a few pebbles scrape against my body and my glasses fall off my muzzle as I tumbled across the lawn. When I regained my bearings, I got up slowly to see (well, kind of see) that the timberwolf was already standing over me, having a slightly crushed shoulder and greatly increased anger towards me. It lunged with full force, sending us back several feet and sinking its teeth into my upper right foreleg and ripping my jacket before we came to a stop. When we finally did, I noticed a warm, wet, sharp pain emanating from my shoulder. It was obviously bleeding, possibly broken, but it didn’t matter, all I knew was that I needed to keep the timberwolf from resuming its attack on Fluttershy.
I was pinned beneath it, it's sharp wooden claws digging into my chest while I struggled to get a better position to attack, my absurdly long bangs obscuring my already limited vision. I managed to pry a few of its branches loose with my hooves, but I couldn’t even come close to defeating the timberwolf in my current position. It managed to get in a few more strong bites on me that didn’t break the skin, but combined with all the struggling and my injured foreleg, I was rapidly losing strength; I wasn’t sure how much longer I would last in the fight. I could hear Fluttershy whimpering in the background and her chickens squawking and flapping their wings in panic.
In a final act of desperation, I retracted my back leg and brought it up sharply, straight into the timberwolf’s stomach, splintering more of the wood and launching it onto its back. I took advantage of its sudden surprise and confusion to try to pin it down. It wriggled underneath me and scratched my legs and my chest with its claws with little effectiveness. I was beginning to feel like I had the beast trapped until it took its front paw and smacked me hard across the face, leaving me dazed and confused in the grass.
My eyes opened to a blurry scene: the timberwolf was advancing towards Fluttershy again as she tried to usher her hens into their coop; the monster's damaged body made it look even more vicious than before. The pegasus shrieked as it swiped at her, bringing a hoof up in order to shield herself from the incoming blow. The claws barely grazed her, but I could still see a few drops of red appear on her foreleg. I suddenly felt a newfound energy surge through my body at the sight of the blood, and something else as well: anger. I was angry at the timberwolf for coming here, angry at it for letting it defeat me so easily, and - most of all - angry at it for hurting Fluttershy.
I quickly stood up, ignoring the pain in my shoulder, and charged the timberwolf again. Knocking it over, I used my suddenly abundant strength to tear off whatever branches I could with my teeth, letting my instincts take over and unleashing all of my malice on the beast. I broke off one of the forelegs, crushing it in my jaws and shaking it apart violently. I tossed it aside and then started on the monster's ribcage, prying it open twig by twig and exposing the hollow inside. In no more than a minute, I finally pulled the timberwolf apart to the point where it lost its form, becoming nothing more than a pile of sticks.
Panting heavily, I took a moment to calm myself. After locating my glasses, discovering that they were miraculously unharmed, I turned around to make sure Fluttershy was alright. She was still pressed against the hen house, shaking slightly, her eyes concentrated on me, full of what seemed to be amazement and disbelief, a few small cuts ran just above her right hoof. I limped over to her, my jacket sleeve was torn where the timberwolf bit me, exposing a gash that ran about five inches long.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She didn’t respond at first. She seemed to be in shock, but from what I had no idea. And then she spoke: “Paint . . . you-you're a wolf?!”
In that moment the world slowed and fell deadly silent, the only sound I could distinguish was my own heart beating . . . beating. . . and then stop. No, she couldn’t have just said that. I looked down to see that my worst fears had been confirmed: my hooves had become paws, my coat had grown thicker, my tail now a long, grey, bushy wolf’s tail. The only aspects of me that remained the same were the markings on my coat, my bright yellow eyes, and my almost jet-black mane.
I should have known this would happen, I never could control my transformations when my emotions got the better of me; it happened frequently when I was younger, but I learned to gain better control of my temper as I got older. This time I clearly couldn’t, and I was terrified. Terrified that my secret had been revealed, terrified of Fluttershy, terrified of what she thought I was: a freak? A threat? A monster?
Her eyes moved down to the gash, “You’re hurt,” she whispered.
I couldn’t say anything, what could I say? Tears started to well up in my eyes, my mind starting to close off from reality, the way it always did when my anxiety started controlling me. I wanted to hide, to disappear, but it was impossible to do either, so I did the only thing I seemed to know how to do: I turned and ran. I didn’t really know where I was running to, but I only made it a few steps before I fell to the ground.
“Paint!” Fluttershy squeaked. I struggled to get back up, the lack of energy and pain from the timberwolf fight finally catching up to me, and I collapsed again.
“Paint, stop!” she pleaded. I turned my head enough to see that the pegasus had started towards me, her eyes wide with concern.
“Let me help you,” she urged, offering her hoof to me.
I struggled to back away, beginning to hyperventilate, I felt completely trapped.
"Please . . ." her teal irises brimmed with tears.
I didn’t want to upset Fluttershy, especially after what just happened. I nodded in agreement and she helped me to my hooves - er, paws - and helped support me as she led me into her cottage (for somepony so delicate-looking, she was definitely stronger than I expected). She then guided me over to her couch, which I practically fell onto, completely exhausted just from the walk there.
Fluttershy helped me get my jacket off, my fully exposed cut halfway clotted by now, placing it on one of the empty chairs before she flew off to her kitchen. I heard her rummaging around in her cabinets for a while before she came back with a small, white box, which I identified as a first aid kit when she came back to the coffee table, standing opposite of me. She opened up the kit and took out a small bottle of antiseptic solution, a washcloth, and a few rolls of clean, white gauze bandages. She then carefully opened the bottle with her teeth, picked it up with one hoof and the washcloth in the other, and soaked part of the washcloth in the solution by pressing it to the mouth of the bottle and tilting it slightly. When she put the bottle down, she walked around to where I lay on the couch and sat down so that we were at eye level, washcloth in hoof.
“This may sting a little,” she said soothingly as she gently pressed the fabric against my wound. It did sting, and it was cold too. I winced and drew my leg back a bit.
“I’m sorry,” she squeaked as she mirrored my recoil.
“No, you-you're fine,” I managed to get out, still very distressed about the whole situation.
She hesitated, then continued to gently clean the gash for a few more seconds, before she decided she was finished and put the cloth down. She then took one of the rolls of bandages and expertly wrapped my leg a few times around before biting off the end of the gauze. After being satisfied with her job, she took out a couple of small band-aids for herself and applied them to her cuts. She then packed the medical supplies back into the box, tossed the now slightly red washcloth into a hamper, and excused herself outside to finish taking care of her critters.
After the door clicked I took a moment to take in my surroundings. I had never been inside of Fluttershy’s home before, it smelled like old wood with a little something sweet that I couldn’t figure out. A small fire burned in the fireplace to my left, making the whole room glow with warmth. Outside, I could hear the crickets chirping rhythmically. It was almost hypnotic. Then there was another click as Fluttershy opened the front door again.
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked as she shut it behind her.
I stared at the floor, unable to meet her gaze, but I nodded.
There was an uncomfortable silence between us. Neither one of us seemed to know what to say.
“Would you like some tea? I have chamomile.”
I nodded again, and Fluttershy left through the entry to the kitchen to start preparing. Soon afterward, an orange tabby cat slinked over to the couch, leaped onto the cushions, curled up next to me, and promptly fell asleep. As she began to purr, I began thinking about what just happened. I had just viciously torn apart a timberwolf as a wolf right in front of Fluttershy, and yet she took me in without the slightest question of whether I was something to be afraid of; it just didn’t make sense to me. A few minutes later I heard the whistle of the kettle and the sound of water being poured. The yellow pegasus appeared moments later carrying a tea tray on her back, complete with two mugs, tea bags already in the water, and a sugar bowl. Setting down the tray, she placed one of the mugs in front of me.
“Looks like you’ve made a friend there,” she teased as she pointed to the cat next to my spot on the couch.
“Mmhm," I replied, fearing saying anything more would cause a relapse in my stress.
“Her name is Jasmine,” she said. “Would you like any sugar?”
I nodded, and she gave me three spoonfuls, before picking up her own mug and taking a seat in one of the chairs.
"Thank you," she looked at me with warm gratitude. "You saved us - me and my chickens. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't stepped in and gotten rid of that timberwolf."
An alarm suddenly went off in my head.
“We need to get rid of those branches,” I panicked, “the timberwolf will reform if-”
“I scattered them in the Forest after I finished taking care of everyone,” she assured me, “it will be a while before it reforms again.”
I relaxed for a moment until the question I kept asking myself could no longer go unanswered.
“Why?”
“What do you mean?” she asked curiously.
“Why would you want to help me after what just happened? Aren’t you scared?”
“Of what?”
“Of me! I lost my temper out there, I tore that timberwolf to shreds, I turned into a wolf right in front of you! Don’t you think I’m dangerous? Don’t you think I’m a-” I faltered, I couldn’t even look at Fluttershy when I said it, “ . . . a monster?”
There was a long silence before Fluttershy replied.
“Paint, is that really what you think of yourself as?” she asked, a look of concern on her face.
“No. Ye-yes? I-I don't know. Maybe?" I couldn't think straight, "I can be really aggressive sometimes, and I worry that I might end up really hurting someone - more than just physically. I worry what ponies might think of me if they knew how different I really am. Now that it's happened, I just don't understand why you don't think of me as a monster."
Fluttershy set her mug down before she spoke: “Paint,” she began, “we’ve been neighbors for a year. Even if we haven’t spoken much to each other in that time, I still know enough about you to know that you are not a monster. I mean, seeing you become a wolf was a bit of a shock at first, but I still sense that gentle soul inside who never failed to greet me with a smile whenever he passed by and always gave me a kind word.”
I could feel myself blushing a little bit. “Well, uh, than-thank you,” I stammered out. Suddenly becoming interested in my mug, I bent over it to lap up some of my tea, which resulted in a few drops splashing over the rim and trickling down the sides.
Fluttershy giggled, “You’re a kind pony, er wolf, er-”
“It really doesn’t matter which one you use,” I told her, as I stroked the orange tabby next to me and gave her a small grin.
She smiled back, “You’re a kind being, Paint, and I’m glad to call you my friend.”
I was a little surprised and confused at that statement. “We’re . . . friends?”
“Of course we are,” she replied, seeming a little puzzled herself, “aren’t we?”
“Well, I . . . I just didn’t know,” I admitted, “I don’t think I’ve ever had any friends, any genuine friends anyway,” faded memories of a childhood friend who had shattered my self-esteem coming to the surface, “so I guess I wouldn’t really know if we were . . .” I paused and thought for a minute, then smiled to myself, “But I think we are.”
“I’m glad you agree,” she stated as she took another sip of her tea.
“It’s just that I feel like I barely know you, and we’ve never really spent any time with each other,” I told her, “I guess I would feel a little more like friends if I knew what makes you, well, you.”
“Well, we could start now,” she began, and cleared her throat, “Hi, I’m Fluttershy, your new friend . . .”
We sat there deep into the night, drinking our tea and getting to know each other a little more. It turned out that Fluttershy and I both liked to sing (mostly musical numbers from Bridleway shows) when nobody else was around to watch, and she dabbled in a little watercolor painting from time to time, which, with much persuading and begging, she agreed to show me sometime. I also enjoyed painting, but with acrylics instead of watercolors; in fact, I had gotten my cutie mark as an artist a few months after I started. We also began telling each other stories of our own grand adventures, she recounting her journeys across Equestria and I reminiscing about various interesting situations I had gotten myself into when I was younger. All the tension of the night’s events had faded into obscurity, and I let myself become vulnerable for first time many years.
I had just finished narrating the time I went as a wolf for Nightmare Night when Fluttershy let out a tiny yawn.
“Oh my, it's certainly gotten late, hasn’t it?” she marveled, glancing at the clock, which read almost ten o’clock. “I think I should probably go to bed.”
“I should probably get going, then,” I said as I started to get up from the sofa, causing Jasmine to awake from her sleep and wander off to find a napping spot with less activity.
“Paint, if you wanted to, you could stay here for the night. I mean, you’re hurt and I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, “It’s not far, and I should probably grab my saddlebags off the road anyways.”
She began absently staring at the tea tray, “It's just . . . oh, never mind.”
"What?"
"It's nothing, really."
"Are you sure?"
She inhaled deeply, "I just don't want you to get hurt anymore," she finally admitted.
“Would it make you feel better if I stayed here tonight?”
“Honestly,” she admitted, “it would.”
“Then I’ll stay here tonight,” I pushed myself back into the cushions, “I’ll get my bags in the morning.”
I was never very comfortable staying at other ponies’ homes, especially overnight, but Fluttershy seemed sincerely worried that I might worsen my condition if I tried to get home by myself. I didn't want her to blame herself if she thought she could have prevented it; besides, I really appreciated that she cared about me this much.
“Thank you,” she said as she got up from the chair, “I should get you a blanket,” and trotted upstairs, returning with a maroon-colored fleece blanket and handing it to me.
“Thank you,” I said as I took it from her.
“You’re welcome,” she replied, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Fluttershy.”
She started her second trip up the stairs as I started to wrap the fabric around myself, then stopped halfway up and leaned over the railing.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered, “I won’t tell anyone.”
I gave a meek smile, “I know you wouldn’t.” She gave a meek smile in return and continued to her intended destination. Once she was out of sight, I settled into a comfortable position on the sofa: lying down with my back legs tucked underneath me, my left foreleg underneath my head for support, the injured one hanging limply over the edge of the seat, my tail curled around Jasmine - who had returned, deciding that she preferred a warm body to sleep next to than one of the corners of the room. I closed my eyes and let my tiredness wash over me, the crickets outside and the tabby’s purring sending me into a heavy trance.
The next morning I felt a hoof on my shoulder, gently shaking me awake.
“Mmmm, five more minutes, Mom,” I groaned absentmindedly. There was a melodic chuckling that followed.
“Uh, Paint,” said a soft, but sweet voice. I opened my eyes to see Fluttershy standing in front of me, a small grin plastered onto her muzzle, trying to hold back the laughter at the statement my half-asleep brain had geniusly come up with when she woke me. I scrambled into a sitting position, pushing up my glasses in the process.
“Um . . . forget I said that,” I told her, blushing.
“Already forgotten,” she assured me. It took me a moment to fully wake up. I noticed that I had become a pony again overnight, and that the clock on the wall read approximately nine o’clock, and that a sweet, buttery scent hung in the air.
“Something smells good,” I noted.
“I just made breakfast,” she confirmed, “Can you walk?”
I attempted to slowly get off the couch, but as I started putting weight on my injured leg, it crumpled beneath the pain. Seeing how uncomfortable I was, Fluttershy hurried over to help me back onto the seat.
“I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’,” I said jokingly.
“Oh, you poor thing, it’s probably broken,” she said pitifully, before taking a moment to think. “Wait right here.”
She disappeared upstairs and came back with a long strip of white cloth, which she used to fashion a makeshift sling.
“Thank you, again,” I praised as she finished. She helped me to my hooves and brought me to the kitchen table, where two stacks of blueberry pancakes waited for us on white plates, melted butter already running down the sides. I also saw my saddlebags resting opposite the pancakes.
“I thought I left those outside,” I said as I took my seat.
“I know you said you would get them, but I thought I’d save you the trouble and brought them in as I was taking care of everyone,” Fluttershy explained, taking her own seat to my left and passing the syrup pitcher to me. Picking it up, I covered my flapjacks with a thick blanket of the sticky, golden concoction and passed the pitcher back to her, layering her own in a significantly smaller amount than mine. The warmth brought the delicious scent of the melted butter to my nostrils, combining it with the sweetness of the syrup and the blueberries; I hadn’t realized how hungry I was from last night.
I couldn’t resist any longer. I lost whatever table manners I had in me and dove facefirst into sweet, fluffy goodness, my ravenous appetite exposing itself for the briefest moment. I finished the stack in a matter of seconds, licking my lips, flecks of pancake stuck to the corners of my mouth. Glancing up I noticed Fluttershy staring at me, her mouth slightly agape; she had barely just begun her stack. Suddenly aware of how ridiculous I must have looked, I took the opportunity to pick up the napkin set beside the plate and wipe my muzzle clean of any remnants of food.
“I guess you could say I wolfed that down,” I cracked, following it with an embarrassed smile.
Oh my Celestia. Wolfed? Where did that come from?
Then Fluttershy began to laugh, starting with some quiet giggling which slowly grew into full-blown, authentic laughter. It was so infectious I couldn’t help but laugh along with her. We laughed and laughed until we couldn’t breathe, any feeling of awkwardness quickly dissipating. It took us a full minute to fully catch our breath. I waited for Fluttershy to finish her stack of pancakes and collect our plates before I left my chair and cinched up my saddlebags.
“Should probably get these home,” I told Fluttershy as we slowly walked back to the living room/foyer and spotted my jacket draped over the back of the chair, “and get my jacket fixed.”
But as I picked it up off the chair I noticed that the hole that the timberwolf had torn in my sleeve was no longer there. I turned to where Fluttershy now stood next to the fireplace, adding another log to the fire.
“Did you also fix my jacket?” I questioned.
Sparks flew as the wood hit the embers. “I finished feeding everyone early today,” she answered, turning to me, “so I thought I would stitch it up quickly before starting breakfast.”
I ran my hoof over the repaired sleeve. The stitching was so smooth that you couldn’t even tell that it was torn in the first place. Finished admiring the amazing patchwork, I began pulling the jacket over my body. I managed to get my left foreleg through its sleeve and began trying to bring the other side of the zipper over my right shoulder, but the sling around my foreleg made it impossible. Seeing my ridiculous struggle, the kind mare came over to help bring the other side of my jacket around my body.
“Sorry,” I said to her, “I feel so lame having you to help with things I could easily do myself, not that I don’t appreciate it.”
She grinned as she fumbled with the zipper. “In my opinion,” she began, “receiving help because you need it does not make you ‘lame’, it shows that you have good friends that care about you very much,” she finished as she zipped it up.
In that moment, I felt something that I thought I had long since abandoned. True friendship. I felt comfort in knowing that there was somepony that I could relate to so well, that they would completely accept me, regardless of my quirks, that I could trust them with anything, and that they would be willing to help no matter how small the problem. Fluttershy had managed to bring back something inside me that I thought had died out a long time ago.
In a moment of overwhelming emotion, I wrapped my free foreleg around Fluttershy and brought her into a close embrace, causing her to emit a small shriek of surprise. I held her tight as I felt the tears running down my face, the sweet smell of flowers coming off of her mane. I didn’t care if I was crying, I didn’t care if it was a bit reckless, I have never been so grateful to have such a pony be my friend.
After realizing what I was doing, I quickly released her and looked down at my hooves.
“I . . . I’m sorry,” I croaked out as I wiped my eyes, “It’s just - uh - I - you -” I couldn’t find the words to match my feelings. But looking up and seeing the warm smile on Fluttershy’s muzzle told me that she already understood what I meant, and she returned my hug.
“Thank you,” I whispered, “for everything.”
“You’re welcome, Paint,” she whispered back.