There's a lot to process there. Shora. Life-shaping. Webbing and scales and chromosomes, and it's all undercut by the voice in his head that protests. We don't share anything. I'm not human.

He has yet to admit that to anyone here, and swallows down the urge to do it now. Instead, he frantically looks for some other tack for the conversation to take.

"What is Shora? Another planet?" That would explain everything.