KAT
Silver Threads
The raccoon drops the socket wrench at my feet before I finish forming the thought. Need that, and there it is—nine-sixteenths, exactly what Dave requires for the generator maintenance. The one-eared leader chitters once, his tiny hands performing what might be a salute or might be expectation of payment in the form of the granola bar I'm carrying.
"Thank you." The words feel inadequate for this new reality where my thoughts translate to action through creatures I've never formally commanded.
Welcome. Alpha-Luna-Mother. The response arrives not as language but as concept—loyalty and service and recognition of authority that transcends species boundaries. The Prime's mark pulses silver against my throat, warm with power that's been building since Dave's teeth sank dee
