ARTHUR

“Your sister is doing well,” is how he starts.

Nora sits across from him. Her expression of wide-eyed fear puts a damper on his optimism. Fukashi’s been fussing at him to be kinder to the girl. Arthur thinks he has been kind. He speaks to her. He’s not harsh or loud. He allows her boundaries, just as he does for Cel.

You’re intimidating, Fukashi had told him. She

He’s heard that before, from old friends and co-workers. He has a hostile resting face. Unless he molds it into something more friendly, people assume he doesn't like them. He worries Cel might have the same problem one day, but her softer cheeks might save her such negative impressions. He can only hope. It’s hard to say at this point how people will treat her. She’s still so young. It scares him to think of her older and out in a world that delights in hurting their kind.

Nora sits on the guest bed, her shoulders drawn up, while Arthur leans against the wall, his arms crossed against his chest. The guest bedroom strikes him as so impersonal. The closet is padlocked, since Fukashi has crammed a stash of weapons in there. The bed sports a simple blue comforter and white sheets; both are bundled up against the end of the bed. There’s a small wooden dresser propped under the only window. Arthur, of course, bought Nora clothing after she moved in with them. In retrospect, he supposes he should’ve endeavored to do more. The room feels detached from the child who has been sleeping in it. There are no toys, no stray treasures, just little Nora, tense as a bowstring, and her rumpled bed.

He’s been watching her all this time and learning more about her from Fukashi’s ramblings while they lay together in bed at night. Nora’s adapting well to her disability without complaint. She’s tight-lipped even around Cel, who’s apparently grown protective of her, but she trains hard. She loves physical training and hates traditional learning: speech, reading, writing. In that way, she is Cel’s opposite. Even though the war has turned her withdrawn, she shows clear signs of a more open personality.

She makes disgruntled expressions when she’s given carrots to eat with dinner. She knocks things off the coffee table with alarming frequency and mutters to herself while cleaning up the mess. She wakes every day with the dawn. On the rare occasions when she laughs, she does so loudly and with complete abandon. The first time Arthur heard it, he couldn’t help but warm to her. It had helped that Nora’s laughter sent Cel into a delighted, shrieking fit.

Shame rushes Arthur just looking at Nora now, clearly afraid of him. She’s lost so much, and he is greatly to blame. With a little huff, he slides down the wall to sit on the floor in an ungainly sprawl.

Approachability is a must.

This child is not Cel. She is Nora. He must remember that.

She blinks down at him, still tensed, her eyebrows pinched with confusion.

Arthur smiles and tugs his braid forward over his shoulder. He takes off the tie and slowly picks the braid apart, doing his best not to look up too quickly and scare the poor girl. “What have you and Cel been up to?”

She takes a long moment to answer, and her words come out shaky and soft. “I...She...Cel is teaching me more Malroix.” A pause. She clutches a handful of the comforter. “She...showed me her books and her shells. They’re not pink.” Another pause, this one punctuated by a trembling breath. “She’s little like Nini, but she talks like Mama. I think she’s fun.”

Arthur has long-since finished his braid. He glances up. “She is fun, isn’t she?”

Nora nods. “Smart,” she adds.

“Oh, yes.” Arthur nods along. “Brighter than I was at her age.” He pauses, lets her see his amusement. “Terrible at training.”

“She hates push ups.” Nora says, nodding with more enthusiasm. “And sit ups. And jogging in place. Teacher says a squirrel could beat her up.”

Arthur chuckles, relieved to see a bit of tension bleed from Nora’s frame. “She’s a bit lazy when it comes to those things.” He reaches into his pocket and draws something out. “Speaking of pink shells, I picked this up for her in Busurul. It’s fragile, so I had it glazed to sturdy it up. I was going to give it to her, but I think you’d like it better.”

He holds out the pink sand dollar. A hole has been drilled into it through which a leather string has been run. The string has a clasp so it can be worn as a necklace.

Nora’s eyes saucer as she retrieves it with trembling fingers. She runs her fingers over the dead sea urchin with reverence. “It’s a sea cookie,” she tells him, using the Busuruli words.

His own laugh surprises him. “Is that what they’re called here? Do you eat them?”

Her noses scrunches. “Ew. No.”

He grins. “You can keep this one to remind you of home. Would you like help putting it on?”

“Yes, please.”

She stands so he can come stand behind her and clasp the necklace in place. It’s a little long on her now, but he’s certain she’ll grow to be quite tall, like most of her people do.

“Very nice,” he tells her after she turns to show it to him. There is pride in her gaze. “You should still be careful with it, though. Even glazed it’ll be easy to break. Keeping it whole can be part of your training, though you may want to tuck it under your shirt during exercises just to be safe.”

“Yes, sir,” she says.

He falters a bit at the addressal. “I’ve thought about it at great length. You are my ward now. You can call me ‘Uncle Arthur’ if you’d like.”

“Uncle,” she repeats, her head cocked. “What’s that?”

“It’s like ‘aunt’, but for Malroix men. We are not blood, but I would like to claim you in some fashion. Cel certainly has, and I’ve never known Fukashi to take another student. You are quite lucky.”

Nora ducks her head, but she’s smiling.

Arthur pats her head. Her hair is soft to the touch, much softer than his or Cel’s. “Now, why don’t you go show Cel your sea cookie, and please teach her that phrase. She’ll like it.”

“Yes, Uncle Arthur.”

Nora rushes out the door eagerly, and Arthur lets out a sigh. It’s no great bond between them, but it’s a start.