Mother had welcomed Sumire like a long lost sister, doting on her ever since they met, fussing over her plate, her goblet, and the warmth of her cloak.
The two of them were seated together, their heads bent in animated conversation, Mother's warm giggles ringing out across the royal hall at something the princess had said.
It was good to see her so happy, so at ease, her stern demeanor softened by the presence of the fox princess, her weathered face creased with real joy rather than the stern lines of command she usually wore.
Sumire stood before the gathered women and spoke of how she had once looked at our people and seen only advanced apes—strong-limbed creatures that swung from branch to branch, clever enough to survive the forest but still animals beneath the surface.
Ignorance, she apologized, had kept her from recognizing us as true people with minds and hearts equal to her own.
