By the time Dashu came into the room, daylight was bright.
Izramith had been fast asleep on her stomach. She pushed herself off the mattress, sweaty and feeling disoriented. Nauseous again. Seriously, how long was this adaptation crap going to last?
“I’ve brought some new shirts,” Dashu said, and proceeded to lay them out on the chair. Because, you know, one couldn’t possibly wear old Mirani army shirts around town. The two shirts were plain, khaki-coloured and quite wide. “These are men’s. I’m sorry about that, but the women’s don’t come in sizes that fit big shoulders.” Dashu’s pronouns were all professional today.
“Thank you.” Izramith pushed herself from the bed. Her stomach was still gurgling like mad. She grabbed the shirts and stumbled to the bathroom.
Oh, this was not going wel
