You know how we have a murder of crows, a blessing of unicorns, and a cauldron of bats? What if, in a world where humans are space-orcs, a group of humans is called a kindness?
When the grey-haired human asked Xar’ell if zir was cold, zir answered yes. Xovas’ simply had base temperatures that were lower than most travelling species. It’s not like zir was uncomfortable, simply that zir wasn’t really comfortable either. That evening a kindness flocked the messhall, filling it with the sounds of their chatter and the clicking of wooden and metal needles. Now Xar’ell has garments made of ‘wool’ from a creature called ‘sheep’ in the exact colours of the Argodal nebula (zem favourite). Zir has never felt so warm, both inside and out.
When a freak storm wrecked her house Bahrya was in despair. What was she to do for shelter, for both herself and her brood of six? She’d never thought a kindness would show up, let alone two. One came with wood and tools and “don’t worry, it might not look great, but it will be sturdy. And you’ll have a roof over your head until we can rebuild the house”. The other with blankets and toys and “I baked you greshpen, from your homeworld. Now the recipe called for yakka root, which I didn’t have, but I think sweet potato comes pretty close”. Bahrya wouldn’t have been able to stop the chitter of pure emotion as she pulled the humans into her many arms, even if she’d wanted to.
Now, a kindness should not be underestimated. And neither is a kindness always kind to everyone. When Fysha’rrelle was wrongfully accused and arrested, he had but one moment to meet the eyes of their human friend, rage clear on her face. After all, Fysha’relle wasn’t the first innocent Haftarr to be taken away, and he doubted he would be the last. That night, in a cold jail cell, he could hear the kindness coming. Their repeated words ringing off of the stone walls, the grey being warmed to orange by the torchlight of the kindness. As he looked from the window saw his friend, standing in the front, a voice expander in one hand, a sign in the other. Most humans were holding signs, he saw, a call to justice. When the guards tried to use violence to disperse the kindness, they were met with force they had never expected. No, Fysha’relle thought, a kindness is not always kind to everyone, but seeing one fighting not only for him, but for his people, made the cold jail cell feel a lot warmer.