somewhere, they spit when they say our names

[takenalive]

When there are no ceremonies to hold, a human burial ground is very quiet. Workers have tried to restore the landscape that was disturbed by the people who attended Rachel's funeral, but the grass near her grave is still trampled, the grave itself heaped with bundles of flowers. There are Andalite words that would better describe the recovery of disturbed grass, for the shade trees, for the lines of stones, for the flowers. Alloran has forgotten all of them.

He's not the only one here. There are those who maintain this park where no one runs, and a scattering of mourners who look at him and away, and the possibly-an-honor-guard of a few warriors from the Elfangor, distant enough to give him some privacy, close enough to watch him. The Andalites aren't sure just what to do with him. He's not sure what to do with himself. Still, it is blessedly quiet. Walking slowly and feeding on the green alien grass, feeling the heat of the day, he feels like he's in a dream.

There's a small human here, closer by - Alloran tenses as he recognizes Visser One. No, not Visser One, her rank was stripped, Esplin is Visser One. No, Edriss is dead, this is her host, but their bodies had snarled and postured and threatened each other, subtly or blatantly, often enough that the reaction is ingrained, though not, at least, the boil of hatred Esplin felt at the sight of his rival. Alloran consciously relaxes his tail so the clipped-short grass brushes the curve of the underside.

He'd seen her at the funeral, where he'd kept himself well back. They had made eye contact for a moment. It's strangely encouraging to see someone he feels he knows, though he's aware he doesn't - he knows how her lip curls, a litany of the curses pulled from her mind, how she looks when she's thinking hard, but that's Edriss infesting her, not the woman herself. She's recognizable now, however long after she was rescued, and also different in so many tiny ways.

Carefully, still feeling like it's a novelty to shape his own thought-speech, he says, <I don't think I've ever known your name. You might know mine - I am Alloran-Semitur-Corrass.>