It had shocked him, when he'd guided her carefully from the cargo bay to the infirmary, Inara's coat draped wrapped loosely around her, that her head was almost level with his. In his mind, up until that moment, she had still been his xiao mèimei, all knees and elbows and the eventual promise of height. Dance classes had given her grace, but nothing could disguise a coltish body only half-done growing. Three years had made her a stranger, for all that he knew the planes of her face, the curve of her eyes, the timbre of her voice as she cried his name.