Thistle Ear's Reflection
Shire Base Holding Facility
Christening Date plus 92 days (estimated)
The strangers hold us sealed.
White walls enclose without mercy.
Lights burn steadily overhead.
Sylva wakes beside me.
Fear grips tight.
The green remains far.
We face captivity.
Thistle Ear surfaced from the disorienting haze with a sharp intake of breath, his senses returning in fragmented waves that left his head throbbing and his balance unsteady. The sonic weapon's assault lingered as a faint spin in his inner ears, making the enclosed space tilt even as he pushed himself upright on elbows that trembled from the effort. The air carried unfamiliar scents-sterile metal, faint ozone, and an artificial cleanliness that stung his nostrils, so different from the rich damp earth and pine resin of the forest.
He scrambled to his feet on a surface that curved seamlessly into walls of pure white composite, smooth and unyielding under his claws, with no joint or crack visible anywhere. Light emitted steadily from a ring along the ceiling perimeter, casting even illumination that eliminated shadows. He scanned the space quickly, panic rising as he searched for Sylva. The room formed a perfect rectangle with no visible exits beyond a door-shaped seam on one wall and a silver panel to its left that reflected faintly like polished water.
No windows opened to the forest or sky, no scent of moss or leaf penetrated the sealed environment. Only the strangers' artificial world surrounded him. He called her name low, his voice rough in his dry throat as he moved across the confines with rising urgency. Relief flooded through him when he spotted her on a raised bed constructed from the same smooth white material as the walls and floor. She lay curled beneath a thin cover, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, no blood, just the dust from the fall, but breathing even.
Thistle Ear crossed the room in quick strides and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, checking for serious wounds. Bruises darkened along her ribs and limbs from the impact thirty feet down, breath hitching faintly as she stirred under his touch, but no deeper injuries appeared. The fall had knocked her senseless and left painful marks, yet she lived. Sylva's eyes opened slowly, green reflecting the room's unnatural light as awareness returned gradually.
She pushed herself upright with his support. "Where are we? The forest! What is this place!?" Her voice thick with fear, and her ears flat with fear scent spiking
around her. He helped her sit against the wall's curve, keeping his tone calm despite the dread coiling cold in his gut. "The strangers captured us. This white place holds us inside. The flying eye saw us after the branch broke and you fell. Then their iron carriages came fast and hit us with a spell."
She looked around with wide eyes, tail curling tight against her legs as claws flexed instinctively against the smooth surface that offered no grip. "The spell made everything spin. I remember running through the trees with your hand pulling me, then nothing until now." Minutes stretched long as hours in the sealed room, time marked only by the steady artificial light and distant mechanical hum beyond the walls. Thistle Ear paced the perimeter slowly, testing the door seam and silver panel with careful touches-both solid and unyielding, no give under pressure.
Sylva watched from the bed, fear threading her scent sharp despite efforts to remain composed, her ears flattened as she processed their captivity. The door seam parted suddenly with a soft hiss, sliding aside to reveal three armored figures entering in practiced formation. Two carried weapons slung ready, visors reflecting the room's glow as they took positions flanking the opening. The third stepped forward—a tall woman in a black tactical uniform reinforced with a soft armor vest, face stern beneath short- cropped hair, eyes assessing them with cold precision that spoke of intelligence work.
Behind her entered a fourth-slighter figure in a matching uniform, movement fluid and composed. Short auburn hair framed a face of serene intelligence, green eyes luminous with faint blue patterns dancing within like distant lightning. She regarded them with calm curiosity, posture open yet careful as she positioned herself slightly ahead of the others. The stern officer spoke first in the strangers' harsh tongue, words clipped and authoritative as she gestured toward them. "Identify yourselves and state your purpose in observing the base." The female figure raised a hand gently, interrupting softly before turning to Thistle Ear and Sylva.
Her voice emerged melodic yet clear, testing sounds deliberate as she began
bridging the unknown divide. "Peace," she said slowly, accent strange but intent gentle. "No... harm." Thistle Ear tensed, dagger absent from belt, removed during captivity. Sylva pressed closer, claws bared subtly as she watched the newcomers. A.L.I. tilted her head slightly, eyes flickering blue patterns brighter as processing
accelerated. "You... safe," she tried, gesturing to the room, then them. "Fall... we see. Bring... here. Heal."
Thistle Ear met her gaze, wary but curious-her scent clean, showing no aggression. "Who you?" he asked in common trade tongue, words halting but clear. "Why hold us... here?" A.L.I.'s expression brightened faintly, patterns surging as translation algorithms engaged. "I... Ali," she responded carefully, voice warming as patterns aligned. "We... from sky. Big... ships." She pointed upward, then to the room. "You fall. We... help. Talk?" Sylva whispered low beside him. "She... tries words. Like ours, but strange."
Voss watched silently, marines steady as A.L.I. continued patiently, repeating fragments she caught from their speech. "Watch... camp?" she asked slowly, gesturing outside. "Why?" Thistle Ear considered her words, dread easing fraction under calm tone. "Watch... because ship's loud. Lights night. Change valley. Protect... home." A.L.I. nodded understanding, blue patterns steady as she pieced more. "We build... home. Meadow. Learn... land. No... hurt." Dialogue built on gradual gestures, aided by words and repeated phrases, clarifying intent. Voss interjected occasionally in the stranger's tongue, A.L.I. translating gentle fragments to bridge.
Captivity held questions unanswered.
Language opened careful doors.