"Am I truly?" They've been kind, true, endlessly kind, endlessly patient with him and his moods but for some twist in his gut it felt less and less like affection and compassion and more like condescension. Why was he here with them? Why was he in their home, in their bed, feeling more and more the stranger every time he woke? It had little to do with the shift but that, that was not true. He'd felt whole. He'd felt ALIVE when he'd been a cambion for that was a world he understood.

He'd felt stilted and off center when he had been human for so many reasons, least of all because he better understood their world and how it was they were back home.

They belonged together. Anyone could see that. Two pieces that fit without any shred of strangeness, propping the other up. Him? He was a bronze little warped strip settled between them, creating gaps, rending them askew, before he'd seen the war maybe he had been determined to enjoy this as best he could but now?

Now it did not fit.

"How can you claim that of me when you do not know me?"