#scarsdale

"Ssshhh... No. I understand. I'm so sorry, ok? So f.... so sorry. But. I love you. And I'll be there. Here. I'll be... I'll be where you need me."

"Not your fault."

"No. Not yours."

"We'll protect you, nu?"

She chuffs a bitter laugh. "Better protect them."

"I will. Everyone that matters."

Miriam takes a breath to lean back and look at Zara. "Who?"

"You. Hirim. Ratchet. My family."

A request for identification, versus confusion.

Miriam nods. "Yes. Master Hirim... Ratchet and.... yes." Dedication.

"Hirim and Ratchet, they helped M-... Ha-... helped raise me. Always there."

Gently. "Hirim's sister. Hannah. I'd die for her."

She nods, her expression torn - love, and uncertainty. "She..."

"... is a saint and I owe her my life."

"Is a saint. And makes most of the desserts."

"Rucchalah?"

"You don't think -Hirim- made it, do you?"

Miriam... Laughs! "No!" Laughing. "He boils chicken stock!"

"I know!"

"You want I should... you want I should come over tomorrow, for lunch, work on the jigsaw?"

"B... Baby... Zara..... I don't want you out of my sight. Yes. Jigsaw. If you want."

She nods, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. "I want, yes. Or to read. Or anything."

"Everything."

"N-not much to see. I'm... I tat. Knit, a little. Read a lot."

"I... I can't. Yet. Ok?"

"Sorry! Sorry... n-n-no, of course, not, sorry. I meant.. I.. I'm not.. I don't.. I'm n-n-not that crafty.. I... I'm not.."

"S'ok! Bab... Zara... Zara. It's ok."

She shakes her head, whisper tumbling out in a cascade of guilt. Her hands pull back, knotting into cat's cradles.

"I just.... I can't yet. Sometime. Not now. Ok."

"I'm not,,, not like Hirim or.. I d-don't... " falters. "...sluagh..."

Miriam stops and looks at the other woman, puzzled, then... "So?"

She gums on her lower lip, making a little noise of uncertainty.

"Are you my baby?"

That makes her eyes well up, and she nods.

"I don't care what kith, if any, you are. I Dreamed of you. Verschtay?"

"Vershtay." Another nod. She seems at a loss for what to do with her hands.

Miriam takes the pretzels-hands in her own. "Zara... I can't... I mean.... It's been." The nocker is old, grown, and this almost seems to age her more. ".... my baby is a wilder." Helpless, sad, proud.

Uncertain, but holding the calloused hands tight. "I dreamed of you, too. Did."

"Always."

"Thank you. You don't owe me anything but... I owe you the world."

"You..." another cracked whisper. "You should eat. Why is it nockers always seem to forget to eat?"

-This- nocker seems uninterested in anything other than this sluagh. "We're stupid."

"Stubborn."

"Okay." Her rough fingers trace the features of Zara's face.

Color raises again, eyes dropped.

"Zara."

Eyes back - black as ink, as obsidian. They flicker in their depths, like embers.

Nocker eyes answer back, flame and fire, forge and creation.

And, impulsively, an abrupt, tight hug.

Miriam hugs back, hard, tight, nothing a sluagh couldn't escape.