This story is a sequel to The Roses of Success

Wanderer.

Why would such a valuable thing as a name be granted unto a common changeling such as this one, a soldier that failed its superior? Why would the last living drone gift it with such a powerful privilege, something that so many forgotten infiltrators died for?

It doesn't know, and perhaps it never will know. It can only contemplate this in its own mind, and sometimes pester its caretaker with these thoughts.

And what of the witchdoctor herself, with her silver tongue and her many words of wisdom? What does she really want from the soldier so much that she is willing to keep it around?

Be warned: there are cuddles and hugs contained within. I just wanted to write some fluff. Rating might change.