[It's not at all what he excels at, but Knives does his best to project calm and reassurance instead of anything possibly distressing. It's a strange balm to old hurts, to feel someone else's fury and hatred of humanity wash over him without it just being an echo of his own feelings, but it isn't good for her right now, and he's not going to encourage it. Yet.

Later, maybe. When she's healthy. When her entire small colony is, and they're able to defend themselves. The hissing and shrieking is exactly what he wanted to do most of the time when he had to endure human company. It was a strange sense of kinship, forged on fear and brokenness, but he'll cherish it all the same, and fold his other hand over her small, viselike grip.]

It's alright. You can hate them too, they deserve it. [Knives is never, ever going to tell another plant they shouldn't hate humans. Learn to harness that rage, perhaps. Make it useful - but now? Right now?] But they're not here now. And I won't let any of them near.

[He wished with a bitter ache that he could do as Vash did, and add feathers and wings to the mix, but he couldn't offer that simple basic comfort almost any other plant could. He had to do nothing that a human couldn't, the bare minimum of a gentle grip and presence.]

...He is, isn't he? But if you can get him to smile the sadness goes away for a little while.

[There's a moving red spot in the sand, but Vash might not be in sight much longer. He watches it for a moment, fogged by old memories, then shakes his head as if to clear them away. More importantly, the small flock of fury..]

Tessla. My sisters. I have to ask.. do you want to stay together, all linked? You can. It'll make all of you stronger, safer, but you don't have to if you don't want to.

[He missed it, in some ways. He hadn't been alone, then, even through the abstractness of their communication.]