No one who has ever been on the wrong end of a fight with Plourr Estillo would believe how soft her face is as she watches Rial hold their daughter. Ianna's existence is still terrifying, especially now that she's here, now that she's tangible -- but Plourr desperately wants to hold her, and she reaches for her when Rial silently offers.

She takes her carefully, so carefully; the transfer from one parent to the other is ludicrously slow, as if the crying princess could be dropped and shattered like glass.

"Okay," Plourr says quietly, finally getting a good handle on the slightly-flailing bundle of blankets and limbs. "Okay, okay." She shifts the warm body up higher into her arms, holding her close and smoothing two clumsy, wondering fingers across her mottled cheek.

"Hey. You're alright. Got nothing to cry about, you little monster."

Lost in a world with two occupants, Plourr watches her with something that starts out as stunned apprehension, but slowly--as she reaches for the little hand that fights its way out from under the blankets and Ianna almost curls her hand around Plourr's thumb--begins to morph into something else, something fierce and proud and bright-eyed.

"Nothing," she says, her voice low and the words nearly stick in her throat, "is ever going to happen to you."