Francine, too, was familiar with this, waking with her arms around Katchoo and the smell of slightly cigarette-scented hair in her face. Familiar enough that when the sounds of morning in the woods filtered in, it took her a moment -- and then her eyes flew open wide, because yes. That thing there about the bruises and the cuts, and she was touching the cheek pressed against her shoulder so gently she might just have been breathing on it. "Chewie?"