There’s no friends for Kat here. She said so herself.

Maybe she could find a friend at the bottom of a [i]real[/i] trap, his silly little legs wiggling about and just enough bleats to catch her attention, and what innocent maiden could refuse a soul in need who would certainly be in her debt afterwards yes? Maybe she could find a friend at the point of a sword. Or, no, the handle of a sword, and soon to be the point of her sword, because he’d be blocking her way, just like evil space sheep are wont to do, and she’d have to duel him, and of course he’d lose, and of course she’d be graceful and victorious, and, and, it’s not really the duel that matters, it’s that he showed up for it. It’s a symbol, it is. You don’t gotta say much when there’s a symbol. Keeps things symbol.

She could find a friend in those places. She could find a friend in all sorts of clever and meaningful spots. She could. She really maybe could.

And that’s just not good enough.

Kat’s a good scamperer, she is. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. Dolce had thought to get in her way, to stop her with a big, fluffy hug, and if that’s all it was then he’d have enjoyed the sight that so many have been blessed with over the years; a clump of fluff-ful tails zipping out of sight, out of reach, out of trouble. But if you dig down, way way way wayyyyyyyyy deep down? Past all the wool, all the spikes, all the steps it took to get here, and everything in-between? I think you’ll find that Dolce wanted to stop her. And wouldn’t you know it, but I think Miss Fluffybiscuits wanted a friend more than she wanted to escape.

What happens next would require a level of expertise to unpack that simply cannot be expected of silly little sheeps. So I’ll just tell you the important bits: Dolce stands among the bits of net. Kat scampers. A woolly cannonball [i]gets[/i] her, mid-scramble, and at least one of them goes a-tumbling in a big old heap. A heap that can talk, even if it’s a bit stunned and forgot to breathe for a bit there.

“My apologies, I didn’t think this was the way to the fan club,” he bleats. “And I didn’t want to miss it either.” He wants to learn about the idol who saved this world. Not to mention she’s got to teach him how to properly do her intro.

***********************************

Dolce feels rather foolish. It’s not fair, and he knows he’s not being fair, and so he’s doing his best to keep a lid on it. But really. What is he supposed to feel, never asking the gods if they actually wanted or needed…any of it? It seems so obvious in hindsight, while being so unquestionable he might as well blame himself for never giving up breathing. 

He visits all of them, in turn. He doesn’t have to. But he does. Old habits, and all. But he does spend a little more time with a few of them, and it is laudable he only sneaks anxious attention to the others intermittently. Braver still, that he hazards a question so frank.

“Is that it, then? Either we’re reaching and you’re present, or we’re letting go and you’re distant?” Hera, who rescued him. Hestia, who sheltered him. Artemis, who taught him. And, oh, beans and bother, there’s no ceremony here. Just a chef who’s found a nice patch of grass to give his trembling legs a rest. “I’m…not sure how I feel about that. I always wondered, you know, likely more than I should, but I did think it’d be nice if the gods were…happy. As much as you can be, for whatever that means for a god. And here, it seemed like there was much you could delight in. I thought of you, Artemis, when I met the Supreme Ruler.”

“What…do you prefer? With all this?”