Thorax paced about the room, while Pharynx was working on new exercises to bulk up the recruits under his command. It took approximately five minutes, before Pharynx got tired of the sound of hooves hitting the floor in an unproductive manner. The Changeling general dropped his pen and paper on the table.
“Alright, that’s it,” Pharynx’s voice made clear his irritation, “What’s wrong?”
Thorax stopped pacing and looked to his brother. A simple, “What?” was all he responded with.
Pharynx wasn’t satisfied with the response, so he repeated the question, this time emphasizing each word. “What’s wrong?”
Thorax let out a deep breath, indicating that he was either stressed or exhausted. “I’m…really starting to worry about Chrysalis.”
‘Stress.’ Pharynx made a mental note of it.
Thorax continued, “I don’t know why, but it seems like she’s having a mental, mid-life crisis or something like that.” Thorax resumes his pacing as he spoke.
“And when did you notice this?” Pharynx raised an eyebrow, starting to take interest in the topic.
Thorax slowed his looped pacing, “Just today, when I took her to the gardens. Around the “Hope flower.’
“As in the flower that bears a resemblance to our previous forms?”
“Yes.” Thorax finally sat down at the table, pushing a pencil around with his hoof, “I mean, there were some times before when she drifted into space, but that seemed more like her not being used to the environment,” He looked at an empty picture frame on the table, awaiting some treasured memory to present, “But this time, it was like she just broke a little inside.”
“Well, I don’t know to tell you,” Pharynx double-checked his plans for tomorrow, “All I can say is keeping doing what you’ve been doing: Making her feel at home.”
Thorax looked up at his brother, “Ya sure you can’t give me a stern, Drill Sargent, talking to?”
“Never.”
“*Sigh* Oh well.”
Pharynx filed his training plan away for the night. “So, got any more grand ideas to aid you in your quest?” He spoke as if he were reading a storybook.
Thorax scratched his chin, as if his kind was even capable of naturally growing a beard. “Enough to keep busy for a few weeks."