“If you sit quietly enough, the universe whispers to you.” Mhar’ri sat, his yellow eyes closed, almost invisible through his thick mane of dark grey fur. His whole body was covered by long, black robes with a silver sash around his broad waist.
“That, friend, is what we call insanity.”
Mhar’ri sighed and opened his eyes. He could see the spines on the back of Argysles head bristle with anticipation. The black scales were shimmering today with an iridescent sheen like oil. The sharp eyes looked distant.
“Brother it is a tragedy you cannot feel the world the way I do. Matter that flows like water travels across the cold darkness of the universe and sings such glorious tales...”
“Brother, if I should want to hear people sing, I will but a gun to their heads and let them cry out their life story. But only when I want them too!” he shook his head in irritation.
“—you know why I have come!” Argysles rounded on the Shivvari. “Many years we have sat, the leaders of our race giving council to the other, keeping peace. But I cannot trust them. They are young and they are dangerous to themselves never mind us.”
“You would start a war off gut feelings.” Mhar’ri could tell he was hiding something. “Brother, there are but the three of us in such a very large part of the universe. Just three in the deep cold and dark. Can’t you put aside your feelings so that we might share what we have to them?”
“It cannot be done. But if you will not help me as I thought you would brother, then I will have to help myself.”