She reached out and placed her palm against the warm ceramic. The Crock pulsed strongly—not just acknowledging her, but examining her. Reading her the way a person might study someone's face to determine if they were trustworthy.
After a moment, it pulsed approval: You care for our siblings well. They are not imprisoned. Not suffering. They chose you.
They did, Marron confirmed. And I chose them.
That is rare. Good. The Crock's attention shifted slightly. But what is that? That small one in the bag?
Lucy had been growing more and more agitated as they approached the Crock. Now the little slime was practically throwing herself against the glass of her jar, still hanging from the side of the Food Cart, her blue form pulsing with urgent energy.
"That's Lucy," Marron said, retrieving the jar from where it hung on the cart. "She's a water slime. She helps me with—"
The Crock pulsed so powerfully that Marron actually felt it through the floor.
