[From beneath the gentle slope of his eye-slats Zenyatta glanced sideways at him: at the stoop of his shoulders, the tired focus of his gaze. It made a part of him ache, though not the part he expected.]

I will do what I can for her. [After a moment of thought, once he was certain the orb had begun to have some sort of effect on the cat- once some of the tension seemed to melt away with a small, raspy squeak of a meow- he smoothed the blankets around her.] But if she has survived for this long on her own, then I am confident she will do an admirable job all by herself. Her spirit is strong. Isn't it, clever girl?

[He sensed it, like a stubborn flame in a storm. He wanted to cup his hands around her, shield that little spark, but settled for her chin instead.]

The blanket is wet.