[ Jiaoqiu hears the tap of the crutch first-- a sound he is eminently familiar with, with all of its variations. Rubber-tipped, raw wood, even a makeshift crutch made from a branch from a scraggly woodland near camp, they all have that same sound. A gentle step, a harder tap, slower than the average gait.

Though his head is turned in the direction of the nebula, one vulpine ear twists in the direction of his conversational companion. Despite the blindfold he wears, Jiaoqiu seems as if he's savouring the view.

His head tips thoughtfully as he absorbs that greeting. ]

I'm not unfamiliar with the sentiment. My people have something similar: they can strip us of dignity, of strength, of our family, but they cannot strip us of our hope.

[ According to his earpiece, the person he's speaking to is a man of average height, tousled brown hair and golden eyes, with a brace around one leg. Humanoid, specific species unknown. Jiaoqiu lays a hand on the window, as if he could reach out and touch the described colors of the nebula, like it's a cloud he could fly through. ]

And if the thing we're fighting to achieve is some nebulous 'Song', the details of which we have been denied? [ Jiaoqiu's lips twitch. ] Ah, forgive my skepticism. The silver lining is that we do know some detail, I suppose.