<4>

	The rogue only then realized how uncomfortable she felt in her human form.  A puff of mist and she was back to her white-furred self.  Perhaps the fur was enough to simulate protective clothing for her, though a glance back at her grandfather made her feel no less vulnerable.

	"Thank you for the cooperation," Carson returned in earnest as he restarted his measurements.  Starla's worgen form was a good foot taller than her human shape, and most of her other measurements were proportionally the same, just a good six or seven inches larger.  The entire ordeal only lasted five minutes from beginning to end.  "Done.  I'll get right to work."  The elder scooped up the parchment and began to walk toward a hall further into the hut.  "Eat whatever you like in the kitchen.  And if it makes you feel better..."  A short pause ensued as Carson disappeared and reappeared to toss a heavy-looking, crimson-colored robe onto one of the sofas.  "You can wear this for tonight."

	Starla eagerly lunged for the robe and threw it over her furred shoulders, thankful for the meager return of her modesty.  "Thank you," she returned softly, a smile crossing her canine face as she turned away.  The hearth room extended beyond the right sofa into a small, well-stocked kitchen which Starla gladly began to raid.  Moments later she plopped herself on the sofa with a plate full of various fruits and biscuits.

	Not long after she began to eat, Carson returned with a roll of royal purple fabric under one arm and a handful of sewing needles and thread in the other.  He quietly took a seat on the opposite sofa and began his work... all while still completely naked in his worgen form.

	Starla looked over to him curiously as she stuffed a biscuit into her maw.  "You outta clofes too?"

	"I don't usually wear them," he returned without looking up at her.

	"Kinda weird for a tailor."

	"Everyone has to eat," he shot right back.  "Tailoring makes a comfortable living, and I have plenty of clothes if I wish to wear them.  However, this is my home, and I am comfortable in my own skin."  He paused to adjust his one-eyed gaze to look directly at her.  "Is that a problem?"

	Starla surprised even herself by quickly shaking her head.  "Your house," she agreed, her mind suddenly aflutter with... peculiar thoughts.  Occasionally between bites she'd find her icy eye drawn to the disheveled sheath between his loosely-spread legs, and the intrigue around that vaguely visible red thing simply grew more intense.  If Carson could tell she was looking, he didn't outwardly show it.

	The rest of the evening passed in relative silence, though occasionally Carson would pipe up and ask Starla little things about her training and lifestyle.  It was mostly formal and quiet, but truthfully there was something rather nice about it, Starla felt.  It had been ages since she'd remembered sitting down with her mother and having a normal, innocent conversation, and the stoic Carson was... surprisingly easy to talk to.  He asked his questions, Starla answered them, and he followed up on her answers without judgment.

	Carson was still hard at work on the clothing by the time Starla began to yawn.  Her food demolished, the rogue got herself off the couch and scratched the back of her head somewhat awkwardly.  "Well, uh... I guess it's time to sleep?"

	The one-eyed male looked up at her.  "You're not going to run?"

	Starla hadn't considered it, but as soon as he said it the urge to run seemed to pique her interest.  "I... maybe I will," she said and offered him a small smile.

	"Do as you will," he added as he returned to his work.  "Just be certain not to leave the woods, and it would be best if you do get [i]some[/i] sleep tonight once you are tired."

	Starla puffed her cheeks out in mild frustration.  "Fine," she said a bit more curtly, annoyed at his relative indifference.

	As she headed for the door, however, Carson added, "And please don't dirty my robe.  I'd prefer if you left it, but I've seen how you treat your clothes."

	"Ugh," she scoffed and burst through the door without another word, slamming it behind her.  She didn't hesitate to bolt off into the woods, once more dropping on all fours, but this time didn't fully give into that feral call.  The wonderful night air was invigorating beyond measure, and for the better part of an hour she ducked and weaved among the trees, satisfying that dreadful itch to just... be herself.

	And then she realized that Carson's robe had been open and fluttering behind her the whole time.

	Poor Starla suddenly stopped and whipped the robe off, realizing it was now streaked with mud, dirt, and leaves of all kinds.  A fleeting moment of panic set in, uncertain as to what sort of punishment she might be in for.  She quickly made back in the direction of the hut, and to her good fortune a wash tub had been left out in the open behind the house, filled with clean water.  Back down on all fours, Starla crept toward the house as quietly as she could, her gaze flitting from window to window.  One and all were left open and uncurtained, but there was no immediate sight of Carson himself.  Perhaps he'd gone to bed?  It didn't matter in that moment so long as Starla could get his robe clean, and as soon as she reached the tub she began to viciously scrub the crimson-colored cloth to remove the dirt streaks.

	Midway through her work, a most... unusual scent caught her incredibly keen nose, causing her to freeze entirely.  Without the scrubbing, a new sound met her sharp ear as well, both of which were apparently originating from her grandfather's living room.  Wide-eyed and curious beyond measure, Starla let the robes sink into the water and kept herself low to the ground as she approached the living room window.

	The sound was akin to someone polishing a wooden staff at quite the rapid pace, and the smell was... musky, almost like her grandfather's natural scent amplified ten times over.  Starla made it all the way to the window and ever-so-slowly lifted her head to peer in...