by M. C. A. Hogarth
Copyright 2010 M.C.A. Hogarth
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"I'm not crying," Milara said as he let her in.
Paul laughed at the habitual greeting. "I know. Come in, make yourself at home."
The human smiled as he took her wet cloak for her and hung it on the pegs on the wall, watching as the Tam-illee foxine settled herself on one of the lush velvet pillows strewn on the floor. The fire crackling in the hearth dispelled some of the darkness in his living room, but even from across the room he could see her clearly: her unusual, hairless face, the triangular ears parting the chestnut brown hair, the symmetry of her long-limbed body, and the smudges dripping from the bottom of her eyes to the middle of her cheeks, perpetual tears.