#nadder!bari

"But," The shadow sighed like it was indulging a small child and the borrowed shape broke away into mist before coming together again with a new face. This one a tall man with long pale features and dark hair tied back in a neat queue. Golden eyes strikingly similar to those of Manse that peered at it glittered down at the nadder. "Perhaps this is more to your liking." The shadow rumbled in a rich voice.

It continued walking along just above the water in the direction of the open ocean. "Your lovely 'foeman' will be looking for you I expect. This time you should make certain it is the one who leaves bloodied. I did try to warn you that those people are not your friends. If they could, they would kill you."

The moon was bright in the canal, the water low and the current not quite as strong. Safe in the shadows of the half-filled canal, the nadder peered at the Threwdish figure, its mandibles clicking with agitation. It wanted the Threwd to go away, to leave it to its venturing. Museum wasn't safe. No longer safe. Not with foeman. Not with new rival nadder. It was stung, hurt, betrayed, and its feelings boiled in its stomach.

Manse gave a low, rattling growl as it carefully clambered to the edge of its perch and scooped up a large mouthful of water, sloshing it down to its face within its cracked helm. Feelings would turn water to acid, help defend Manse, protect it from enemy foemen.

But then the thoughts of Ivory, Katherine, the Night Guard, and even the one lady, Lavinia, came to mind. They hadn't harmed him. They were not enemies...

"Not all are foemen," the nadder muttered, his belly at least somewhat full of the cool water. "Some are foemen. Some... still friends."

Then he heard it - the rich, familiar baritone that made him stop cold. The nadder froze in place for a time before slowly turning to look at the Threwdish figure. There, standing just above the canal water, was the tall man, his dark hair pulled back in a queue and his eyes mirroring the nadder's own.

He knew that voice. He knew it in his bones deep beneath his carapace. Something stirred in the nadder, a recognition, a will - another's will. Awe, indignation, but most of all recognition.

"You..." the nadder hissed, "you use wrong face. Face not threwd, not yours." The nadder made a spitting hiss and snapped his shell at the specter. He didn't know why he was angry, but the sight of the man before him hurt him deeply, made him sad in a way he couldn't even describe! Seeing him made his chest ache more than even the water hound's terrible bite!

Manse cant help a rasping laugh as he watched the little mer zoom about the tank. This was how it was supposed to be. Happy fish in a tank made perfectly for them. However, she was going pretty fast and he could see the current of the pool begin to change.

With a frustrated huff, the nadder made his way to the kitchens, grabbing up a few things before trudging his way back. He wanted snacks. He wanted something to feel better to. But hearing the phantom's words, he tilted his helm to the ceiling and made a shrill rattling hiss.

"MANSE IS ALLOWED TO BE ANGRY!" the nadder shrieked, his feelers flailing about in frustration. "STILL BROKEN, STILL INJURED, STILL ANGRY! NOT HEALED! NOT SAFE! If hound can be angry enough to BITE, then Manse can be angry enough to KEEP AWAY!"

Manse lowered his head and shook it, still fuming. "Know Hound is Becktel. Know Hound not want Manse around to begin with. Not friend. Not wanted. Only... tolerated..."

There was a soft level of hurt in the nadder's last words that the creature quickly shook off before marching away passed the door to other nadder's play-pool domain. But even in his anger, he paused for a moment and gazed at the limp noodle of a beast just lying in the pool. It looked... sad to him—limp, listless, and he hated the way it made his insides twist.

Gritting his teeth, the nadder let out a reluctant chitter and left a large, plump shrimp in the middle of Theo's doorway.

no, thatch had wanted to act like a beast and so it had made him one. now this simple beast thought to act like a man with its sweet childish music and simple words. this wouldn’t do at all! where was its own furious threwd? the hissed threats? the burning acid?

licurius’ stolen features were thunderous as the specter fumed. ‘you should be outside taking what you want.’ it said, ‘hunting, not being fed. and humans are so easy to hunt you know for all their bluster they whimper die as easily as rabbits.’ it continued to press its will upon the poor nadder, urging it to stop trying so hard to please the humans, to act like one, and follow that bogelish nature

The nadder lowered itself as the Threwd's presence thickened with displeasure. Had it done something wrong? Surely it was not angry that it had found an easy place to live and feed? With comfortable sand and delicious fish? Why would it go when it was so content here?

It followed the shadow, crouched down like a scolded hound as it sensed the pacing and mood of the Threwd. But as it went on and pressed its thoughts and will against it, a single indignant question burbled up from the nadder's mind.

‘such a simple thing you are, exactly as it should be.’ though the spoken words did elicit a frown from the shadow. even as a simple bug thatch was still clever, far too clever.

and so docile. it pressed its will on the nadder, ‘you’ve been dining far below your needs.’ it hissed melodically, ‘away from here you’d find much better fares. nadders aren’t meant to live in cages, nor to serve below humans. you’re far above them in the food chain.’

The nadder lifted its helm to the pats. It was liking these spectral pats, the approving thumps of the Threwd. But as the Threwd spoke to it, the creature paused and canted its head.

'Fares? Food?' it thought and nosed at the shadow quizzically. It understood food and it understood needing to be outside, but the rest was beyond it. Still, the press of the Threwd was making it hungry.

"Food?" it asked, trying out the word the Threwd used. "Food?"

it reached forward to pat the hard shell. ‘no sense of self at all. has anyone even recognized you, bug? i doubt it.’

Startled by the shadow, the nadder lifted its helmed head and hissed. In its claws were the pieces to a music box, the comb still ringing slightly from where the nadder had been plucking at it. But as it nosed the darkness, it sensed a familiar threwd that calmed its ruffled plates of shell. Slowly, it extended its soft, fluffy feelers, sensing the being it recalled from the start of its memory.

"Threwd..." it rasped as its shell was pat, its voice a low hiss. "Threwd..."

It seemed the creature now had a name for this mysterious, familiar presence. Satisfied that it knew what it was talking to, the nadder looked down at the comb before holding it out for the phantom to see. "Song..." it breathed, almost excitedly. "Song..."

Manse is all a bristle, hissing and rising his ridges at this strange-colored intruder! It hums and vibrates, and has a hard shell, not unlike his own!