Rosemary noticed the changes in Goldie; the woman matured from the young kitten she’d known years ago into a capable leader. She never would’ve expected the young bengal to lead the Typhoon, but now she performed the role as naturally as Pincher. But Rosemary still missed him, missed Coldblue too, and plenty of faces. Yet, even with her eyes in the past, she still noticed things.

Perhaps that came with re-emerging after asocial isolation. Maybe she simply noticed the obvious with fresh eyes, when anyone more familiar with Goldie wouldn’t notice the gradual changes. Or it could be her healing knowledge that made the rounding of the tigress’s belly and her eating habits of note.

Either way, Rosemary noticed. And the ocelot found herself worried for her niece, running around and increasing her already active lifestyle to new levels. Forked tail lashing behind her, she headed for the captain’s quarters. Even as a fullgrown adult, nobody caused her more worry than her headstrong niece.

“Goldie? Are you in…?” she called out. Her raspy voice hardly carried, but she didn’t need to yell.

A helpful crewmate supplied the important observation that Goldie went into her quarters a while ago, but hadn’t been seen since. So Rosemary was willing to sit here and wait, though she doubted she’d need to be too insistent.