The muffled roar of the MetalEater outside the door vibrated the floor under his feet, signalling its departure. Fralith clenched his fingers, standing his ground even as icy prickles ran up and down his arms, staring at the door Tim and BlueShirt had left through. They'll be back, he told himself. They'll come back. It's not forever. It's not like Davith.

But when would they be back? How long did he have to wait? Heat twisted in his chest and snowmelt crashed over him, ripping away the last of his calm. He jumped forward, reaching for the door. "Tim! Samilshu!"

Arms wrapped around his shoulders, drawing him back. "Shh, shh," RuthMom murmured. "They will be back. You'll see both of them soon."

He twisted against RuthMom's arms, the heat in his chest rising up his throat and pressing at the back of his eyes. "Meio! Nadunthiulammo! Cumaprevaha!"

"Shh, shh. It's okay, Love. It's not forever." Her arms wrapped around him tighter, pulling him to her chest and pressing his face into her shoulder.

Shoulders slumping, he allowed her to move him and his fingers to grasp her shirt tightly. "Nadunthiulammo." His voice cracked and he swallowed, licking his lips. "Nadunthiulammo." He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing at the cold, scaly shudders twisting around his ribs and knotting them together. They'll come back. They'll come back. They'll come back. Please come back for me. Please don't leave me.

RuthMom stroked the back of his head, murmuring strange but soft syllables until the cold, scaly shudders melted into shadows.

He sniffed, pulling back and wiping at his eyes. Tears seemed to come easily now. Maybe it was because the constant shadows sliding under his skin, or the memories that pounced on him when he wasn't looking. Or maybe it was both and none at all.

Tears are so complicated. Movement flashed in front of him and he pulled himself from his thoughts, focusing on RuthMom, who was rising to her feet.

"Let's get some food into you," she said with a warm smile. "That always seems to cheer you up. Then you can help me press some flowers, okay?" She mimed chewing on food and pointed at him.

Foo-duh! He was starting to recognize that word all on his own. He wasn't sure what exactly it meant yet, but he was pretty sure it had to do with eating which... a cook-y would be nice. With a nod and a final glance towards the door, he padded into the kitchen with her.

RuthMom stopped in front of the tall, silver rectangle that looked rather like a door—with its handles on either side—but led to no room. Pulling open the FoodDoor, she rummaged around and pulled out a small container of cook-ys.

A flash of warm light shone through the soggy grayness inside of him at the sight. Yes! Cook-ys! He rocked onto his toes, lifting himself closer towards the delicious circles, saliva filling his mouth.

"Ah, I knew it would work." RuthMom chuckled and handed him a cook-y before putting the rest away and shutting the FoodDoor. She patted his shoulder as she past him, heading for the table.

Fralith stuffed the cook-y into his mouth and followed. Sweetness Hinchillas stampeded around in his mouth, headbutting him with their lovely heads and chasing away the worst of the gloom. He swallowed and came to a stop at one of the chairs, watching as RuthMom as she went to the shelves, took a box, and set it on the table.

From the box she produced cuttings of flowers that seemed to match the ones growing outside. These she placed on her right in neat rows, organized by kind. Returning to the shelf, she pulled out a brown roll and a lot of heavy-looking books, which she set on the table with a grunt.

Flowers, books, and a brown roll. What was she doing? The feet of curiosity skittered up his back and curled around his shoulders, propelling him forward. He moved around the table closer to the flowers, head tilted, then looked up at RuthMom. "Beep?"

She smiled at him and nodded. "Yes, those are flowers. We're going to press them to preserve them, like this." She pointed to the wall where, set in frames, were dulled yet still colorful, shrunken flowers arranged in patterns.

They were going to...make the flowers stay flowers...longer than their time? How? He frowned, cocking his head to the other side. And put them in frames? They...looked pretty. Ailith would love one of them. A pang thrummed in his chest and he pulled his gaze from the wall, stuffing down the shadows that threatened to appear.

RuthMom reached over and picked a handful of flowers. "Here, this is what we're going to do."

He turned towards her, shuffling to her side to watch as she opened one of the books, took the brown roll and grasped a flap hanging from one side. She pulled on it, unrolling a sheet about the size of the book's page.

With a flick of her wrist, she tore the section off and held it out to him. "What is this?" She pointed at the brown sheet, tilting her head and exaggerating the lilt at the end of her sentence. "What? Wh-at. What?"

Wh-at? This...brown sheet was called a wh-at? He pointed at it, mouthing the word slowly before putting his voice behind it. "Wh...at?"

RuthMom nodded. "This is a baking sheet." She waved the wh-at around a little, flicking her hand at it. "Baking sheet. Ba-king sh-eet. Baking sheet."

Huh? But wasn't it a wh-at? Why did it have two names? "...Beep?"

She pursed her lips, a slight crease forming between her eyebrows. "Let me try this again." She put the wh-at down and pointed at the book. "What is this? What? A book. This is a book." She patted the book. "Book. Buh-ook. Book."

He tilted his head, mouthing along with her. Book. Boooook. Buh-ook. Book. It was a book. He nodded.

Flashing him a small smile, she turned and patted the table. "What is this? It's a table. Ta-ble. Table." Turning, she gestured to the chairs around the table. "What is this? Chairs. Ch-airs. Chairs."

RuthMom continued to point and name objects around the room, always repeating the same phrase before she named an object. Gradually, like the lethargic winter dawn, understanding took hold in his thoughts. Wh-at is this was a question that asked what the object's name was. He could...ask what things were and they would understand him.

The last of the gloom inside of him dashed away as a bright wave of sunshine seized his chest. "Beep!" He hopped once and ran over to the frames on the wall, pointing at the one in the middle. "Wh-at....Wh-atisthis? Whaisthis?"

A brightness lit in RuthMom's eyes, followed by a wider smile. "Yes! That's a picture. Pic-ture. Picture."

Pic-ture. Piiiiic-ture. Picture! A grin spread across his face. "Beep! Pic-ture! Yes beep!" It worked! He asked a question and she understood and told him the name! He burst into wiggles, doing a short twirl and piercing whistle of joy.

RuthMom laughed and put her hands together. "I knew it would work! You just needed a little help to put it together." She shook her head and came over to him, giving him a quick squeeze.

Fralith grinned at her and trilled. He could ask what things were! That opened up so many possibilities! Took away so many question marks. It was— it made the world seem a little less scary and unknown.

He rocked back and forth on his heels to his toes, looking around the room. So many things to ask the names of! Where should he start? His gaze landed on the flowers laid out on the table, their white, purple, blues, and soft yellows bright against the wood. Right. They were doing things with the flowers.

Drifting back to the table, he reached out and brushed his fingers over a cluster of four-petaled blue flowers, gently stroking their velvet undersides. What kind were these flowers? How would they look when they were done with them? He picked the cluster up and looked at RuthMom.

She motioned him over, setting down another wh-at—which it's name didn't make sense anymore (why would a question always refer to the brown sheet?)—on the book's open face. "Yes, right. You put the flowers on this." She pointed at the book.

Coming to her side, he set down the flowers on one of the wh-ats, careful to make sure none of the flowers were poking over the edges. Were they going to...squish the flowers? Why would squishing the flowers make them stay flowers and not rot away? Tapping the top of the book, he looked up at RuthMom. "Beep?"

RuthMom smiled at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "We put the flowers in the books to preserve them. Look, it's easier to show you." She walked to the shelf and pulled another book from it, handing it to him. "Here, open the book."

He took the book and opened it. A wall of black squiggles and dots stared back up at him. He squinted at them, tracing his gaze over each one. I wish I knew how to read it. Shaking his shoulders, he flicked through the pages, unsure what he was doing.

Near the middle of the book, a crushed flower slipped out between the pages. He paused and carefully picked it up. It was flat, dimmed in color, and delicate, but still in a flower shape. Huh. So...squishing the flower made it like this, forever? Interesting.

Nodding, he set the flower back and closed the book. He reached across the table and pulled the rest of the flowers towards him, looking up at RuthMom with a smile. Let's make more!

For the rest of the morning, RuthMom and he put flowers in books. It wasn't a particularly exciting task, but he didn't mind. RuthMom taught him many new words and was...nice. Kind. Warm. Like...the mothers he'd seen around SecondHome except...she was almost his.

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Aww, some bonding time with RuthMom! This chapter turned out much different than what my outline was, but I think I like this better! RuthMom taught him a useful phrase, which will make teaching Fralith new words so much easier. Thanks, RuthMom XD

Anyway! Here's the translation of the SecondHomish words in this chapter:

- Meio = No 

- Nadunthiulammo = Don't leave me

- Cumaprevaha = Come back

- Samilshu = BlueShirt