Good Monday All. I hope you had a lovely weekend. With this chapter, I think that Lost in the Translator is done. I hope you like it. It wasn't the first ending I had in mind; but I decided to go with it. To everyone who faved, followed, or commented - you made this all worthwhile. Cheers. If you find a mistake or have a question - don't hesitate to get in touch with me.

After the Shouting

Shepard

The Normandy managed to get through the relay before Shepard got another message from Udina. She deliberately ignored it until late in the ship's night cycle (and the Citadels) so the Councilor wouldn't be awake to harangue her.

She was sitting in the empty mess with a cup of tea she'd made for herself, listening to Udina figuratively frothing at the mouth (again) about everything. Even the tea, meant to sooth her before sleep, couldn't compete with his vitriol.

"He sounds like a crazed varren." Came a familiar flanging voice. Despite growing used to Garrus's mannerisms she still started at his intrusion.

"Dammit Vakarian, I really am going to find you a big bell, so you'll stop doing that." She grumbled as he settled down across from her, a cup of Khaal in his hands.

"I am not wearing a noisemaker just because you aren't paying attention to your surroundings, Commander." He retorted; but not with any heat.

"I think you just like startling me." She complained and he widened his eyes at her.

"I would never do that to my Commanding officer." He protested; and she didn't believe him for a moment. Between the mischievous glint in his eyes, his raised eyebrow plates, and what she could faintly sense of his sub harmonics, she was fairly sure that he was teasing her.

"Smart ass Turian." She growled under her breath and heard the faint chuff of his amusement.

By now Udina had run out of steam and he gave her a curt good bye and an order to get in touch with him. She scowled at her omni-tool and deleted the message.

"You aren't going to call him back?"

"If Sparatus talked to you like that – would you call him back?" She countered and after a moment's thought, he shook his head no. She had to laugh silently; he was beginning to pick up human mannerisms. Then again, she was beginning to pick up Turian, Asari, and Quarian ones. About the only Krogan mannerism she could pick up – was head butting and she wasn't keen on that. The beacon had given her enough of a headache.

She was glad to see that he seemed to have stepped away from the formal manner he'd reacquired after the Citadel.

"Where next, Commander?"

"Supposedly the Council are following up on some leads, but for now, we just head towards Saren's last known location."

"Knowing Saren, he's no longer there."

She shrugged. "Agreed; but it's the only thing we've got to go on."

"Hard to track down someone who could be anywhere."

"Tell me." She groaned. "The Council complains that I'm not moving fast enough then expects me to find the slippery bastard with no intel or outdated intel."

"I thought you knew." She could tell by his voice that he was teasing again. "Spectre's are supposed to be able to read their opponent's minds."

"And Snipers are supposed to show their Commanders some respect." She shot back and he laughed at that.

It was a small exchange but surprisingly it calmed her after Udina's rant.

"Thanks Vakarian." She held up her cup in salute.

"For what?" He was obviously puzzled.

"For not being an uptight, elitist bastard." She explained and got another chuff of laughter.

Just then Alenko came around the corner. Seeing her he came over, acknowledging Vakarian; but really focused on her – to her displeasure.

"Commander, you're up late." He smiled at her and she refrained from scowling as Vakarian came to his feet and with a slight nod to them both, left the mess.

"Want company?" Alenko asked, sitting down without really waiting for an answer.

"I had company." She retorted, tired of the biotic's obliviousness. "Till you chased him away."

Kaidan reared back at that, surprised at her outburst.

"I…didn't."

"No you didn't. You never do." She cut him off and got to her feet. Putting her cup in the sink she headed to her cabin without a backward look.

"Commander." He called, upset she could tell.

"Start being aware of all the crew members Alenko." She tossed over her shoulder. "And treat them like you expect to be treated." With that she slipped inside her cabin and locked the door, knowing that the lock would show red and indicate, unless Kaidan was a complete idiot, that she wanted to be left alone.

She waited, just inside the door, but it seemed, this time, that he could take a hint. She still thought he was cute; but his obliviousness to the non-human crew was beginning to get on her nerves.

Liara and Tali wouldn't really be a problem; but Wrex and Garrus were a whole 'nuther matter. Garrus had a tough hide and could put up with it; but she didn't want him all formal and distant. He was the group sniper and she needed, no - they needed him to be dialed in to the rest of the ground crew. As for Wrex, Alenko was going to say or do the wrong thing one of these days and get bounced around like a biotic ball by the Krogan.

Maybe, she thought, as she got ready for bed, that's what he needed. A little Krogan attitude adjustment. At that, she had to chuckle, as a vision of the pint sized Trukle trash talking Wrex came to mind. She hoped that he, Kalba, and Nezzie would be okay. Also that Walea and Halsen would start getting better treatment from the Hierarchy. That all those they'd rescued would have a better future.

Six Plus Years Later

Nezzie

"Nezzeke, it's time to get up." A voice invaded his dreams. The one he always had. He was home, though his images of home had grown dim and fuzzy, but that voice. It was his mother, it had to be.

"Nezzeke." He looked for her desperately, but he couldn't find her as the dream began to fade.

Something shook him and he bolted awake. Not his old home; but his new one. A medium sized cavern, hand built wall blocking the opening to keep in heat, keep out the cold, the dust, and other things. A small fire flickered inside a modest brick oven in the center of the cavern, providing much needed warmth and light.

A tall figure, though not as tall as he once thought her, was standing by his platform bed. The reddish light from the oven turning her scales a rose gold.

"Forsyth." He yawned, loath to crawl out from under the pile of blankets and furs he was buried under.

"Time to get up, little one." Her voice was soft and affectionate. "You have patrol today."

He sighed at that but crawled out from under his bedding. As the cold of the cavern hit him, he let out a shrill chirp. It was much warmer than outside; but nowhere near as warm as his bed had been.

Forsyth held out his undersuit to him and he gratefully took it. Even more grateful that she seemed to have used the oven to get it somewhat warm. He quickly slipped it on and sealed it. The heat retaining properties of the fabric instantly beginning to warm him, and his plates stopped trying to contract into each other.

With a relieved sigh, he turned to his armor and starting putting it on. It was an old battered set of adolescent's armor but it mostly fit. What little money they had when they'd gone to purchase it, they'd spent on his undersuit, because the undersuit would grow with him. The armor would not.

Satisfied that he was up and moving, Forsyth went over to the oven and added some fuel to it, bringing it to life. She'd left a pot of water on the cooler side of the top of the oven last night, so was able to fill a mug with hot water. Instantly the scent of Khaal filled the cavern.

"Do we have enough Khaal to last out the cold?" He was concerned, it was the time of year that they had to ration out their dextro supplies to last until regular supply runs started up again.

"If we're careful. If not, we do without." She returned calmly and handed him the mug. He took it carefully, savoring the rich scent.

After a moment, he took a sip and the heat and the stimulant surge of the Khaal went through his body.

"I just want to stay inside and savor my Khaal." He admitted guiltily as he watched her put several pans of food on to heat up.

"I wouldn't mind the help; but I'm sure your brother has his own ideas about that." Forsyth gave a soft chuff of amusement.

Nezzeke grumbled under his breath.

Just then there was a banging on the wooden door to the cavern. Even the permanent wall rattled with the force of it.

"Do not." He yelled, heading for the door. "Knock down the door you idiot, like you did last month."

The pounding stopped to shortly be replaced by a less ferocious tapping.

"He's learning." Forsyth laughed, Nezzie just gave a mandible click of annoyance.

Nezzeke opened the door and a burly figure shoved in past him. Nezzeke quickly closed the door behind him before the heat could escape.

When it straightened up it was revealed to be a steel grey Krogan with pumpkin orange eyes, dressed in oddments of armor and fur. He stood taller than Nezzeke and almost as tall as Forsyth.

"Truk, you big lout." He growled at his friend.

"And good morning to you too, Nez." The Krogan grinned at him, then he turned to Forsyth and politely bowed. "Healer."

"Trukle." She smiled at the young Krogan. "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat." He admitted, his grin getting bigger.

"Whenever can't you eat." Nezzie retorted and Trukle chuckled.

Trukle pounded on his chest, thumping his armored chest plate. "I'm a growing boy." He looked to Forsyth. "Isn't that what the humans say?"

"You're just a growing pest." Nezzie half-heartedly shoved the Krogan towards the oven. All it did was rock the young Krogan who chuckled some more; but shifted closer to the warm oven.

"Weakling." Trukle retorted then suddenly got serious. "Are you two alright? Do you have enough food? I hear there's a cargo ship coming in today."

"We're fine youngster." That was Forsyth handing him a very large steaming bowl of something. She handed a smaller one to Nezzie. "We've got some rations coming in on the ship, so there'll be a truck coming out here."

"I hope that idiot Mesker isn't driving. He tries to hold up our supplies again and I'll end him." Came the growl.

"I think your throwing him down that low cliff last time convinced him to NOT try extortion again." Nezzie gave a chirping laugh.

Forsyth had gotten a small bowl of her own and for a time the only sounds were that of quiet eating. Well, Forsyth and Nezzie were quiet, Trukle was his usual loud self. At least he'd finally stopped his habit of smacking his lips. Then again, Nezzie threatening to shoot him might have had something to do with that.

Nezzie handed his bowl back and stood up.

"Come on scrawny." Trukle motioned towards the door. "We've got a perimeter to patrol."

Nezzie just let out a mandible click of acknowledgement at that.

The young Turian grabbed a garment he'd put up on a wall peg. He'd bought this one off an Outfitter. Outfitters were salvage/junk dealers that wandered the planet of Dodassa finding/reclaiming/selling things they found in their travels. He had heard that salvaging things wasn't the only way they found inventory so it was best not to inquire too closely on an item's origin.

It was a lightweight, though blissfully warm, long sleeved, hooded human garment that covered his under developed fringe and head. He thought the humans called it a hoodie. He did notice that it wasn't covering as much of his face as usual, though the drawstrings still got tangled on his mandibles. When he glanced at Forsyth she gave him a gentle smile and a nod.

He was finally moving into his last growth spurt. He was happy and unhappy. Happy because he'd no longer be periodically squeaking like a startled pyjak; but unhappy because it meant they'd have to find him some adult armor soon. They never had many credits at the best of times.

Putting those thoughts aside, he pulled the top blanket off his bed and draped it over himself, like a cape. He was very careful not to knock the tiny pillow Forsyth had made for him onto the floor. It was lovingly but roughly hand laced together. A dark blue piece of fabric with a crude letter T sewn into the middle. Battered and stained

A memory of a time in his life when he hadn't been cold, or frightened, or angry. When strangers had welcomed him, his mother, and his friends into their midst. When he'd met his brother, his aunt, and his friends; but ultimately lost his mother.

He knew that Trukle also treasured a similar piece of fabric; but the Krogan kept it in a small pouch under his armor. Nezzie wasn't altogether sure that he didn't still think of himself as a superhero. He had the attitude for it.

"Do you need my blanket?" Forsyth motioned to her bed.

Nezzie gave a mandible click no.

"Trukle?" She looked to the young Krogan.

"No Healer. Loelk says that today should be mild." Trukle was always unfailingly polite to the older woman.

Some of the other Krogans had tried to make fun of him about his very atypical attitude towards the Turians, and he'd basically chased them around the village a few times. After that no one made mention of it.

They were handicapped and everyone knew to be careful of the handicapped ones; because for the most part they weren't sure how far the non-regen went. For some odd reason it wasn't always every organ, so they didn't know if it was one organ, two, or just everything. Though the total non-regens tended not to live very long. Being Krogan meant engaging in too many things to die from.

Loelk was the only one that had ever had a medical scan and tests run. In his case it was only his brain that was affected; but that had been enough because they hadn't discovered it until too late.

As warm as he was going to get. Nezzie took his rifle and his pistol down from where he kept them. Like his armor and his hoodie they were ancient things; but they worked and he could get parts and ammo for them and that's what counted.

Trukle was already armed. His shotgun peeking up from his fur overcoat.

"You two be careful. "Forsyth saw them to the door. "It may almost be spring but the Uwarks are still coming down to these elevations looking for pyjaks. And they'd happily take Turian and Krogan instead."

"They have to get us first." Trukle growled as a blue glow briefly outlined him.

"If they ambush you they can." She returned, bending to touch her forehead to Nezzie's for a moment. Then, without pause, she turned to Trukle and gently brushed her forehead across his. She'd been doing that since he was a child.

For a brief moment he closed his eyes at that, even trying to give off a rumble like Turian sub harmonics. When he opened them again, Nezzie was smirking at him.

"She's a healer. I'm showing respect." In embarrassment, his voice deepened as he growled at the young Turian.

"I thank you for your respect, Trukle." Forsyth, her sub harmonics amused, told him.

Nezzie was laughing to himself as they slipped outside, Trukle pointedly ignoring him.

Despite his outerwear, Nezzie almost let out a squawk as the cold air hit him. The sun was barely up over the horizon, partially hidden by morning clouds. He knew it would warm up in a bit, but that didn't make the cold any easier to tolerate right now.

Metan, a big normal female, twice the age of anyone in camp even the Asari, Nivenna, was waiting out by the central oven with the others. They'd learned long ago that ovens kept the heat in longer, protected the flames from wind and weather, and were, just generally more useful.

Also with her were Loelk, a second female, Zasss, and another of the handicapped ones, Peltez.

Metan nodded as the two youngsters walked up.

"All right, we're the morning shift today. According to Jontass we will have a truck coming up with supplies – otherwise no one else is due." She told them. "Loelk you are with Zasss and you'll be on the middle post. Peltez, you and I will be partnered and have the upper post. Trukle and Nez you've got the lower post."

Before they turned to go. "Be wary, the night guards said they heard Uwarks close by in the hills above us."

With nods from the Krogan and a mandible click from Nezzie they all headed out.

The way Attrikus was set up – it only needed three guard positions to watch over it – during times of non-combat. During the war – they had had as many as eight positions to keep from being overrun. Though Wrex's foresight in situating the colony here had made excellent use of the terrain. Reaper troops weren't able to come at them in waves as they had the town of Beetitt.

Fortunately for both Beetitt and Attrikus, the Reapers had collapsed before they'd managed to get too established.

It had been over a week before someone finally got up the courage to take a vehicle out to where the Reaper had plowed into the side of a mountain. It had lain still and stiff, near buried in boulders, rocks, and dirt, misshaped monstrosities scattered around it like chaff.

It still lay there – even the Outfitters wouldn't go near it, and the Uwarks, always up for an easy meal, wanted nothing to do with the Reaper created troops. Nezzie and Trukle had actually seen one trying to bury a husk corpse.

Now they all lay still and silent, slowly disintegrating while being covered by the blowing sands of Dodassa. The only thing not of the war were some seismic probes that had been placed nearby. Should the Reaper or its troops ever reactivate – no one wanted to be surprised.

But from all the news that the occasional trader brought to Dodassa – the Reapers and their troops were permanently dead and not going to come to life again.

Off the normal shipping lanes, and with the relays down, it had taken awhile for the traders to start visiting Dodassa again; and when they did some of the tales they brought were near impossible to believe. Krogan on the ground on Palaven helping the Turians, the genophage cured, the Citadel towed to earth and near destroyed, and a hundred and one other tales. Many of the more unbelievable tales featured Commander Shepard – the first human Spectre who, along with her crew, had rescued him, Walea, Halsen, Trukle, Kalba, and the others.

Nezzie didn't know what to believe; but the one tale he wished he hadn't heard and could ignore was how badly Palaven had been hit. His mother, Halsen, and their squad had been near Cipritine when the Reapers struck. He was many things; but mostly a realist these days. The odds that they had survived and made it off Palaven were non-existent.

When he'd finally been forced to accept it – he'd gone out to keen his misery to the cold night skies. Trukle found him later, huddled against a tree, near to freezing. The young Krogan had helped him up and guided him back to Forsyth's cave, where he insisted on keeping Nezzie company that night. From somewhere the young Krogan had gotten a couple of bottles of booze, one of which was dextro. At least he said it was booze – it could have been paint stripper for all Nezzie knew.

Nezzie, after the first foul mouthful, had basically downed the whole bottle, Trukle keeping up with his own bottle. When they woke up the next day Nezzie felt as if his plates were about to pop off; and his headache was so fierce that he refused to open his eyes.

Even Trukle was hung over, enough that he buried himself under a fur blanket and refused, loudly, to come out.

Kalba had come in to check on her son and Nezzie and after screaming, at least it seemed that loud to Nezzie, to Forsyth, she left the boys to sleep it off. It was twenty-four hours before Nezzie could truly function. Trukle had been fine in about eight. The benefits of a redundant physiology.

Grabbing a crudely made coal cache, he followed Trukle down to the forward guard post. During the warm months, you could stand outside; but the cold weather brought freezing winds, rains and the occasional snow – never mind predators from the higher elevations – so small huts had been built at strategic locations.

They kept off the weather and the night hunters. Like the living quarters, they all featured a thick walled oven that warmed the place without the danger of fire.

During the war, they'd had to suspend use of the ovens because some of the Reaper troops seemed to be drawn to heat. They'd actually thrown together some quick huts with crude ovens to lure the monstrosities in to ambushes.

They'd been attacked by what he learned were – husks, brutes, and marauders. Thank the Spirits they'd never had to face banshees or some of the other abominations he'd learned about.

The coal cache he brought with them, could keep coals, from the central oven hot and ready to relight a fire for several hours. The ovens would already be lit but it didn't hurt to be prepared in case they went out. And on at least one occasion a cache had been used as a weapon on a Uwark that had snuck down into the colony. A faceful of hot coals could deter most anything.

The lower post was down below the entrance to the colony, where it guarded the way in. It took him and Trukle a few minutes to make their way down there. As they got there – Nivenna and Jontass, who'd had night duty, greeted them.

"How are you youngsters?" Jontass said, smiling.

"Cold." Nezzie complained, hunching his shoulders up to keep his neck warm.

Nivenna laughed at that. "You're always cold, child."

"Turians really don't like the cold." He mumbled through a mouthful of scarf and she smiled. Nezzie and Nivenna were the two who suffered the most from the weather, so they took turns on the night shift when it was the coldest. So nether had to suffer through too many nights.

"There will be a supply truck coming up before mid day." Jontass told them.

"Is that idiot Mesker driving?" Trukle demanded.

"He may be." Here she smirked. "But I think he won't be trying anything."

"Better not." Trukle threatened.

As Jontass shouldered her shotgun. "If he does, try not to damage him too badly. He does have his uses."

She and Nivenna started back up to the colony and when they were out of ear shot.

"Only as Uwark bait." Came the growl.

Nezzie chuckled as he ducked inside the shelter. He immediately opened the cache and with a small metal shovel he'd taken off its wall hook he put the hot coals into the oven. While he was at it, he added some more fuel. A crude mixture of wood, pyjak scat, and dried grasses. It gave off a slightly pungent smoke that was actually a great insect deterrent during the summer.

Once the oven was stoked up, he closed the door and put a pot of water on to heat. On a small shelf, near the oven, were a couple of battered cups and some teas, herbal and otherwise.

Then he went back outside where Trukle now had his shotgun out and was studying one of the high passes.

"Truk?" Nezzie kept his voice low.

"Thought I saw something move up there." The young Krogan pointed the nose of his gun upwards.

"Uwark or pyjak?"

"Only saw it out of the corner of my eye." Trukle was honest.

Nezzie, activated his assault rifle, as he did he remembered the big sniper rifle that Officer Vakarian had carried.

Nezzie doubted that he would have even been able to lift such a weapon; and idly he wondered if the man had survived the war.

So many hadn't.

Trukle had opened his omni-tool, a crude thing that one of the females had put together.

"Forward to Middle and High." He kept it simple.

"Middle here." Came Zasss's voice.

"High here." Metan answered.

"It's Trukle. I think I may have seen something by the upper pass into the red gorge, but I'm not sure what."

"Understood." Both females acknowledged his warning.

With the sun coming up, whatever it was had probably been heading for its den; but it didn't hurt to be cautious.

For the next several hours the two alternated walking down established paths around the guard hut; but never out of sight of each other.

Finally the sun was well and truly out, the clouds had rolled back and Nezzie could actually take off his outer cloak/blanket. Whatever Trukle had seen was, no doubt, holed up for the day unless it was a pyjak and then they didn't really have to worry about it; though it might have to worry about them.

Not long after the young Turian took off his outer cloak, they heard the distant sound of a truck laboring up into the hills below the colony.

They were careful to ascertain that it was the supply truck and that it was alone. The Reapers might be gone, but pirates and slavers were still out there.

Using Forsyth's binoculars, Nezzie watched the road until the truck trundled into view. It was the same old transport that had been making trips up from the spaceport for years. Somehow, in the midst of all the Reaper destruction, it had survived. Probably because no one thought the thing actually ran.

He checked the way it rode – it didn't seem to be more heavily weighted than normal. One of the many survival lessons that Jontass had taught him and Trukle. Then he focused in on the driver. The window was filthy, covered with mud and dust everywhere except right in front of the driver.

"It's Mesker." He'd recognize the Salarian anywhere.

Trukle growled at that; but got on his omni-tool to notify Jontass that the supplies had arrived and would need to be brought up to the colony.

Mesker well knew where the guard post was and he brought the truck to a rattling halt about three truck lengths away just below them, after turning into the flat area they used for off loading supplies.

The Salarian climbed down from the cab and peered up at the guard hut.

"Got your supplies here." He yelled up at them.

"And?" That was Trukle, aiming his shotgun at the Salarian. Nezzie could make out Mesker paling out to a sickly yellow. Something he did when he was scared, which was often. Nezzie sometimes wondered how the man had survived the war without dropping dead of fright.

"Got a couple of riders, want to talk to Jontass." He admitted just before he dodged back behind the truck.

"What!" Trukle bellowed and nearly let off a shot at him.

"Easy, Truk." Nezzie caught his arm before he could shoot the Salarian.

"Miserable pyjak knows not to bring anyone out here." Came the growl.

"True, but if they were an obvious threat he wouldn't have been so at ease." Nezzie pointed out. "You know he goes yellow if you even glare at him."

There was more grumbling from the young Krogan but he lowered his shotgun.

"Let Jontass and the others know." Nezzie deactivated his assault rifle and reattached it to his back; then he pulled his pistol.

As he started to move towards the path down to the off load area, Trukle stopped him with a hand to his arm.

"Where do you think you're going, scrawny?"

"Someone has to check them out." Nezzie told him.

"Yeah." Trukle put up his shotgun. "Me."

When Nezzie went to protest, Trukle just shook his head. "No, if this goes bad I'm better capable of defending myself and the colony." At that, for a moment he was outlined in dark energy.

"But…" Nezzie tried to protest.

"You lose, little brother." He grinned at the young Turian. One night they'd been listening to Nivenna talk about some strange human customs she'd learned from her time of crewing on a trader ship. One of the things she'd mentioned was the concept of blood brothers, something a lot of other races actually had a version of. Trukle, in his usual, impulsive fashion had insisted that he and Nezzie become blood brothers right then and there. It was Forsyth who had pointed out that they couldn't do it the human way due to their different chiralties.

Trukle had shrugged, said they'd just mix their bloods and swear brotherhood and gone on to do it. It hadn't felt odd, only right to Nezzie though his arm had ached for a couple of days from Trukle's heavy-handed use of the knife. Trukle wasn't exactly subtle.

Reluctantly he had to agree with the Krogan's logic.

Trukle chuckled almost as if he could hear what Nezzie was thinking.

"When sprinting like a frightened pyjak is called for – it's your turn." Trukle tossed over his shoulder as he maneuvered down the hillside.

"At least I don't trip over my own feet." Nezzie retorted. "And DON'T damage Mesker – we need him."

"I promise nothing." Trukle shot back.

Behind him, Nezzie could hear the sound of people coming down the hill; and the ratcheting of shotguns. Below him, he heard the tailgate of the truck crash down and the sounds of two sets of feet hitting the ground. Armored if he heard it right.

He could barely hear the sound of Mesker's whine; but if the other two said anything he couldn't pick it up.

Just then Nivenna, and Kalba reached the guard hut, behind them, several more were following – though a couple peeled off to take up defensive positions, guarding the trail. Despite being mostly female, everyone in the colony knew how to fight.

"Nez, where's Trukle." That was Kalba.

"He went to see who these two strangers are."

Kalba snorted at that. "Of course he did, young idiot."

"I would have gone down; but he reminded me that he's biotic and I'm not." Nezzie explained.

"In that he's right; but don't tell him I said so." Kalba readied her shotgun. Nezzie snorted at the thought of adding to Trukle's already enormous ego.

Trukle had reached the truck and he disappeared around the back end of it where Nezzie couldn't see him. Everyone tensed at that.

For several long minutes it was silent. No voices, unusual with Trukle involved, no sounds of shooting, or of anything mechanical.

Then the young Krogan leaned around the back of the truck.

"Hey Nez, get your scrawny self down here." He didn't sound distressed; but something in his voice was off and Nezzie immediately scrambled down the hillside, concerned for his brother.

"Be careful." Kalba called after him as she began to follow him down; but more carefully. In that respect, Nivenna and the Turians had the advantage over the bulkier Krogan; being far more nimble.

He hit the ground, pistol out, and headed for the back of the truck. As he came around the corner, Trukle was casually leaning against the back of the truck – looking – well Nezzie wasn't sure how to explain it, but he wasn't distressed. Mesker was there, hiding behind one of the strangers.

Both were wearing hooded cloaks; but Nezzie realized they were Turian from the way they stood and their scents. One looked to be an adult, a little bigger than Forsyth and the other was smaller and slighter and looked somehow familiar; and he flashed on a young female quiet and without colony marks.

"There he is." Trukle exclaimed. "Still in one piece."

At his intrusion, the adult spun to face him, their hood slipping down, and he instantly registered several things. One arm was good, the other badly damaged but healing. Battered heavy armor, with a pair of pistols around the waist.

No fringe. A female with blue-white colony markings. A female he knew. A female he thought he'd never see again.

"Nezzeke." She breathed and in an instant caught his head in her hands and lowered her forehead to his.

Nezzie shook as he returned the gesture, his sub harmonics near audible to everyone, then he started to keen like a soft plated child. He desperately tried to stop it, he was almost an adult, but couldn't and then he started to shake even harder.

"Shush little one. It's all right. I'm here now." And Walea's keens joined his as she gathered her son into her arms.