<7>

	Midway through her cheery meal at the countertop, the front door burst open to reveal the ever-stoic Carson.  Starla was surprised to see he'd bothered to put his pants back on as he trundled into the main room and tossed a pile of garments onto the couch... his red robe included.  Both worgen looked at the robe before making eye contact.  "Found it out in the washtub," was all he said.

	If Starla's white-furred cheeks could've gotten any paler, they would have.  "S-sorry, Grandpa.  I-I-I didn't mean-"

	Carson held up a hand to silence her.  "It's fine.  Apparently we were both preoccupied, hmm?"  His hulking form lumbered over to the opposite side of the island countertop and leaned heavily against it on his elbows.  "Clothes fit alright?"

	"They do!" Starla returned with perked-up ears.  "I don't think I've ever had clothes that fit so well before.  How do they shrink when I change?"

	"Simple mage's spell," he returned with the slightest hint of a grin.  "Had it specially designed to go with my tailoring.  I've made a lot of fine clothes and armor for Gilneans over the years, and I still take special orders from my best customers.  Underrated spell."

	Starla chuckled and stuffed another slice of bread into her mouth.  "Well it worfs great.  Thefe will last for agef I bet."

	"They will," he assured her, though his brief smile faded away as his thoughts returned to the more pressing morning issues upon his tongue.  "Starla, I think we need to speak of what happened last night."

	Starla's ears drooped as she physically appeared to shrink up defensively, but she did not flee from his one-eyed gaze.  "Yes, grandfather."

	A long, drawn-out inhale and exhale followed as he carefully composed his words.  "So, I assume you remember as well as I do what happened."

	Starla nodded silently.

	"Indeed.  And what happened cannot be undone.  Among humans in Gilnean culture, such a union would have led to exile for the participating parties.  But... times have changed, and, frankly, many worgen have participated in familial bonds of such an intimate nature."

	This gave Starla pause.  "So... worgen mate with family, like, it's no problem?"

	Carson's head moved from side to side hesitantly.  "It's more like an... unacknowledged event.  Those who have difficulty with their feral sides, like yourself, may be driven toward the closest mate in proximity.  Regular mating is... far less common, but more or less ignored.  Still, it is best to keep such things out of the public eye for modesty's sake."

	This caused Starla to blush once more as she nodded along.  "So... where does that leave, y'know, what happened?"

	The silver-furred worgen had to hesitate at this.  "Well... how do you [i]wish[/i] to leave it?"  The following pause sent a twinge of nervousness through the aging worgen, concerned that he just may have very well alienated his own granddaughter with even the suggestion that it could be more than just a single occurrence.

	But Starla's answer didn't include much hesitation.  "I... I have to be honest with you if I want to learn, yes?  It was... unlike anything I've ever felt before, and I think that, maybe, it could be useful to... learn from it again...?"  It was the rogue's turn to swallow uncomfortably, scared to death that he might admonish her at any moment.

	For the first time, the surprise showed on Carson's arched brow.  His weight shifted from one leg to the other -a subtle cover to adjust for the bright red tool that started to push itself from his sheath again- and let out another exhale before speaking.  "So long as it does not become a crutch, perhaps we can come to an understanding about 'it'.  Along with your dual forms, there are nuances to each in regard to your actions, sex included.  I think we can find a way to teach you about it constructively."

	Starla found another smile crossing her canine face, and without thinking she lurched over the countertop and flung her arms around Carson's neck in a genuine hug.  "Thank you, Grandpa.  I'm really, really sorry for jumping on you like that last night.  I'll... try not to just do that next time."

	To her surprise, Carson returned her hug affectionately and planted a light kiss on her cheek.  "I'm here to help you, Starla, and I'd do anything to do that for you."

	At this, Starla drew back with a half-faded smile.  "So... if I can ask: where have you been for the last, what, fifteen years?"

	Carson's expression immediately went stoic again.  "I don't want to talk about it," he stated bluntly.

	"Why not?" Starla prodded with a furrowed brow.  "I've been confiding in you.  Shouldn't you return the gesture?"

	"It's complicated," he added, instead turning away from her to head back for his laundry.

	This prompted Starla to let out a slow, low growl of frustration.  "If you don't hate me, what is it!?"

	Carson froze mid-step at this, and slowly he turned around to face her... but rather than anger, there was instead deep sadness in his lone eye.  "Starla, I swear to you that it has had [i]nothing[/i] to do with you."

	"Then what?  My mother?  Your own daughter!?" she pressed, her white fur standing on end as she thundered around the countertop to come face-to-face with him.  With a few moments of silence, her expression softened into one of sympathy.  "Maybe I can, I dunno, help or something?  What happened?  Why does my mother not speak of you?"

	It was on the very tip of his tongue to say, but the elder worgen slowly swallowed it back down.  "Incentive," he returned unexpectedly.  "If you can prove to me your control over your feral side is improving over the next few weeks, I swear upon my remaining years that I shall tell you everything, no matter how much pain you wish to put me through by recounting it."

	Starla didn't hesitate as she stretched out one of her clawed hands.  "Deal."

	Ever the male of honor, Carson slowly took her hand and gave it a firm squeeze.  "Deal."