[Purposefully, or maybe simply out of habit, Connor often words his phrases to avoid offense; carefully crafted to be polite and amicable — unless true irritation flares, which is a rare thing in itself.

He wonders if she’s right. Or if it matters at all, if his “normal” is only normal in his own world, and that trying to apply the idea of strangeness to another’s is a waste of time. But curiosity always gets the best of him, as it often does.]

Maybe. Hard to say. I just wonder what the reasoning might be. What’s the harm in meeting humans if you’re meant to fight for them?

[But that might be a rhetorical question more than anything else. Especially once Connor removes one more piece of debris, and the rest of it slowly comes crumbling downwards, slowly and harmlessly piling across the ground. A space is left open, if they were keen to climb over what remains.]

Looks like we can get in through here.