[/html]Sometimes, she still liked to believe in the inherent goodness of people and their supposed natural disposition towards altruism. Kharma was her shining example, but she had seen it to some extent in many others. People wanted to be good, to do good, to not betray, to not harm, to not destroy. A handful of sadists would find their joys in the opposite, but most believed otherwise, and there was the rub. People always believed they were doing good, even when it was so easy for others to see the truth.
You mustn't judge, Cassandra, her father said, but he did anyway, and she did anyway. They couldn't not. It kept them alive.
"It covers me without getting in the way," she explained to the other woman, holding part of it up. "My fur gives me away too often," she elaborated with another shrug. Other reasons sat on the tip of her tongue, and she almost shared -- Willam did not seem threatening in the least, really -- but she swallowed them. They were idle details, her occasional sensitivity to sunlight and the usefulness of hiding items in the weaves. Camouflage was a good enough reason, and it was no less true, either.
Cassandra allowed a small smile. "That might be my favorite time of day, too," she said. "It is nice to sit alone then, in the forest, in the fog, on a hill, perhaps. Sometimes it feels like you're the only person in the world, but you know you aren't alone." The earth was there, always, as was the damp morning air, and the chill of a breeze. It was one of the most reassuring things in the world, she thought. "Those times, I wish the sun needn't rise."
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