>While out in the forests to retrieve a weather balloon the uplift council lost track of, you run across an astounding sight huddled at the base of the tree the weather balloon crashed into
>A plucked tribal raptor girl
>She's a mess of a scales and scrapes, shivering against the bark of the tree
>Poor girl must be an exile from her tribe
>You guess she can barely speak or understand twenty words of trade pidgin as you to try to communicate with her
>You can't just turn a blind eye on someone so desperate and forlorn, not in these deadly forests so far from any settlements
>And especially not when she looks at you with glistening, hopeless eyes and meekly asks, "Help Chiisi?"
>Tears stream down her muzzle, her sickle toe claws lowered and neck exposed in absolute submission
>You don't even think about it
>You leave the weather balloon in the branch it landed on to pick up later, and take her home with you, wrapping a mylar survival blanket around her to help with the shivering
>Back at the spaceport settlement, both your boss and the local sheriff don't bat an eye at your decision
>You're given the day off and explicit permission to house the native, the sheriff promising to deal with any headaches and get you the needed supplies
>After a quick visit to a doctor specialized in the native raptors' physiology, Chiisi is given the all clear - apparently she came from a village that got medical treatment, and there are records of her genetic markers in the database
>Aside from scrapes, bruises, and mild dehydration she's the picture of health, for someone that came from subsistence tribal living that is
>She needs rest and a steady diet, but she'll recover her feathers on her own in half a year
>That leaves you to get the poor, plucked introduced to your spartan, prefab home
>It's well insulated, full kitted out for self-sustainability, near the edge of the civilization where you work, but small even for one person
>You have to give up half your bedroom to fit Chiisi a cot and trunk
>She seems afraid to wear the clothes you bought her while she was getting a check up, but once you help the raptor into a knee length dress she seems to relax a little
>It has to help with her body temperature regulation
>"Thank Duncan," she says crudely, looking somewhere between cute and sad in her new sunflower yellow dress
>There's only a couple of broken patches of feathers on her arms, when her entire body should be a mass of downy fluff this time of year
>It hurts your soul to look at her and think about the monsters that'd do this over what is sure to be a minor infraction - the truly heinous crimes in tribal society carry the death penalty, after all
>But at least she now has warm clothes, shelter, and food until you figure out what to do with her
>The next week has a rough starts where Chiisi doesn't believe she's allowed to live with you, saying things in her garbled tongue of clicks and chirps as she stares in awe at your tiny prefab home
>Eventually you convince her to come in and look at where she'll be staying, though she keeps her hands to herself
>Until you show her the trunk full of clothes just for her
>She stares at that with unabated shock, that only grows when you confirm that it's hers and you won't hear otherwise
>Your wrapped up in a tearfully appreciative hug, that you can only escape by patting her head and insisting there's more to see
>The next week she adapts well enough to living with you; she even keeps her hands away from the stove after you show her the induction burners are dangerously hot
>But she does start pestering you with, "Want help Duncan," after a few days, so you show her how to clean or cook every time you get back from work
>While showing her how to help around the house, you work on teaching her new words
>With poor luck at first, her stare blank and confused whenever you try to point to a new object and name it, but by the third day she catches on
>After that she gleefully listens to you during the day, and practices her new words before you both go to bed
>By the end of the second week you guess she knows at least five hundred new words, making conversations easier
>Although she still doesn't get that it should be "Thanks Duncan," instead of "Thank Duncan", but it's growing on you
>Just like her happy smiles and musical chirp-humming
>Two months later on the first stormy day in a while, you come home from work cursing the rain and mud, but excited to see the friendliest face you know
>You go inside, the solar panel roof, metal gutters for collecting runoff water, and glass windows loud with the sound of pattering rain
>Underneath the din you can hear a weak, chirping sob
>The lights are off, but once you hastily turn them on you see Chiisi
>She's hiding under the wall mounted kitchen table, curled in a fetal position and crying into her knees
>You step into the small kitchenette of an entrance, ceramic crunching under your boots
>Good thing you forgot to take them off, as there are the shattered remains of several broken plates strewn about everywhere
>Her sobbing grows more violent as your feet crunch over the ceramic and towards her
>Thunder rumbles and her breathing is no better than ragged squawks, gasping for air as she wails
>You kneel down, heart breaking, and ask her as soothingly as possible, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
>She won't look at you, shrinking in on herself and mashing her face into her knees instead
>But somehow she manages to speak through her chirping, squawking tears
>"Chiisi b-broke Duncan plates when rain thunder scary. Chiisi not know fix. Rain thunder get louder a-a-and Chiisi couldn't make Chiisi leave for broke Duncan pottery."
>"Why would you leave?"
>"Chiisi bad. Chiisi not help. Not know fix. D-Duncan hate Chiisi break pottery, tribe hate Chiisi break pottery," she babble-chirps. "Rain thunder scary Chiisi. D-Duncan sweep out Chiisi, scary broke."
>They exiled her and plucked all her feathers for breaking some pottery?!
>Your heart aches just as much as it seethes in rage on her behalf
>This poor, abused raptor
>You brush away the shards of ceramic with your boots before taking them off and climbing under the table with her
>It's a tight fit but you manage to get under there with her, in large part because she's skinny and only four and a half feet tall
>She quivers with tears, no doubt convinced your going to throw her into the rain
>You hug her tight instead, petting the top of head in the way that always soothed her to sleep.
>"I'd never throw you out," you assure her. "And I'd certainly never throw you out in the scary rain."
>"Plates are replaceable, Chiisi. I'm not mad at all, only worried that you might have cut yourself. Because plates can be replaced, but you can't be replaced."
>Chiisi must've said everything she could, because now she just cries
>You hold and pet the trembling, sobbing raptor until the rain dies down
>You tell her over and over that it's okay
>The crying calms as the worst of the storm passes
>Her voice is nothing but a ragged chirp as she asks, "Duncan n-not sweep out Chiisi?"
>"Never. Because this is your home, for as long as you want to stay."
>"Duncan nice. Chiisi not for nice. Chiisi no-feathered-bad."
>You know by now that the only way to counter her logic is to use something else she's said.
>"If you're a no-feathered-bad, why would I be nice?"
>She has no way to counter that and goes silent
>You stroke the back of her neck and tell her, "You're nice, Chiisi. I like being around you. But I won't make you stay. You can leave whenever you want, but you shouldn't do it over a few plates I don't care about. I'd want to see you off with everything you need to be okay."
>Chiisi chirps forlornly, the sound confused and desperate as she listens to you
>"And I'd be very sad if you left without saying goodbye Chiisi."
>A warbling chitter of a skronk stirs her
>She shifts and wriggles, until she has you in a hug and her head pressing against your chest
>"Not want Duncan sad," she rasps. "Duncan nice. Duncan need happy."
>You pat her soothingly
>"Chiisi nice. And Chiisi needs happiness too."
>The rain patters against the windows, but now she isn't shaking and the tears that wet your shirt are far from sad
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