With you at her side and the warmth of the morning sun spilling over the bedsheets from the barely opened curtains, she couldn't help but remember the long days she'd spent cooking in the sun during any number of missions she had been sent on. The giant metallic wings taking her higher into the sky only severed to make the sun seem hotter as she rose high into the sky, the scent of corpses from her own doing somehow wafting to her and reminding her of the godforsaken cage in Indonesia as she sat among the corpses of other children. One's she'd killed or eaten for survival. Necessity. She had to. But she had to remind herself that she wasn't a child back in that cage or flying among the clouds on blood splattered wings, no. She was under the warm sheets of the bed with a person she cared for and who cared for her as well. So with an anxious hum, she tugged you closer against her side and rested her head on your shoulder as she held your side.