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Of the people who knew most about Peter's existence on the island, the majority had been introduced to him in some way, whether planned or incidental. Some were refused the right entirely, and would always be - others were more complicated for a wide variety of sound and valid reasons.

This included Rep.

It had nothing to do with her desire for them to meet, and she had never questioned that there would be any risk of safety. Rep was ultimately the reason that he had been provided the chance to survive, and she found it abundantly clear that the child's life mattered to him. It was their position as family that always gave her pause; she felt much like the older sister to both Camille and Lucky, in spite of the latter being nearly a year older than her, but Rep's inclusion no longer made her feel like the oldest. She may have been decades behind in comprehending the dynamics of siblings, but it had not taken long to understand that she was in another position of seeking approval.

So she waited, testing waters that never registered as warm enough. She watched to gauge his thoughts about family. Still, nothing achieved what she calculated to be the highest likelihood of optimal for him, and she was in the middle of clothing the child in a onesie made to look like a tiger when she resolved that it had simply been long enough.

By design, they were just where Mimsy said they would be. It was best to avoid the unnecessary existence of unknown variables in this instance particularly, and she never wanted to give the impression that she would not be present when he sought her out. Peter was by her feet for the moment, tearing up handfuls of grass with a low rrrr rrrrrrr, as though he assumed that was a tigerly thing to do. He at least looked the part.

"Hello, Rep. I'm very happy to see you, and that you have come to visit." She smiled back, just as genuine. That only changed when she appeared to be on the very edge of saying something else, which Peter dutifully interrupted.

"TIGER TOO!" he shouted, insofar as a small child could, once again reminding everyone within earshot who his father was. He stood to 'point' all five fingers at Rep and his tiger hair, because it was obviously worth five importance.

"Yes. Today you are both like tigers," Mimsy confirmed, eyes darting quickly back to Rep. "He is not really a tiger, of course. Oh...but you know that, surely. I mean no offense - I supposed it might be best to specify, given our very expansive realm of possibility."

Of all the things she might have expected Rep to say, that was most sincerely not one of them. Mimsy blinked once, then glanced to ensure that Peter was as entirely unaffected by this comment as she'd anticipated he would be. Seeing that he was already occupied by the grass again, she tried to hide another smile by tipping her head briefly downward, but the gesture in itself gave her away.

"Ah, you're correct, but these are quite difficult to replace. A tarantula was even simpler." Only in theory. Hers had not actually survived her 'caretaking'. "If you damage its limb, for instance, you need only to remove the limb and await its regrowth upon its next molt. Skinning in a way, perhaps."

"I thought that he was quite cute too. I was careful with his safety, with the exception of failing to protect it from other predators." Clerise. "That was my failure, and I have since learned. I only started over with another species instead."

Then Peter shared their attention, oblivious to the arguably threatening subtext that was being exchanged above his head. He tried to put a handful of freshly harvested grass into his mouth, but she pried it out without a word before standing upright again. Another blink, more owlish this time, as she tried to determine how to best pick up their thread of conversation.

"I would agree. That man is the ultimate prey to be hunted, that is." The predatory thing that stirred itself awake behind her eyes, one she'd believed was of her own making, was contained within an expression both visibly and inarguably inherited. The only discernible difference was that she looked like she wanted to hunt with him; from her mother, there would have been no with.

Whether it was the slack on her own leash or the thickening of his accent, perceived by her as some shedding of skins that weren't really theirs, she seemed noticeably more comfortable now.

"Infant humans are like the bugs, as you spoke of them. Not of much use, except to be cared for, and ignored by those who are not contained within their system. Their purpose creates a purpose in itself. I'm glad that I could fulfill this purpose for him too, though." And she had possibly become too comfortable, as her first thought upon his inquiry about heights was to look towards her home to calculate the height of the roof for experimental purposes. Mercifully, her system of checks and balances triumphed. "I have no data indicating that he is scared of heights. Should he be?"

The compliments superceded any argument that she might have otherwise made about intelligence, and her grin was a proud once. His approval was a meaningful thing, and the camaraderie Mimsy felt now easily overtook any opportunity for negative reactions - even when he divulged the specifics of Kostya throwing her child.

"He might be. Children are already innately sensitive to fear in its general sense, even as infants. Their body retains the memory, in a portion of the mind that is accessible only by the body itself, but they do not directly. Anything resembling a scent, or sound, or event that occurred there may trigger a response, though he would not know why. But he is not frightened of your voice, despite hearing it there." She'd worried, admittedly, so this had come as a relief. "I have noticed nothing of the sort thus far, but he has night terrors on occasion. Everything I've read insists that this is normal, but."

Her brow furrowed as she had some difficulty with what she intended to say.

"It is also normal for a child experiencing a night terror to not recognize their parents, as they occur in the stage of deep sleep absent of REM. When he cries for 'mama', but becomes more distressed by my presence and says that I am not, it is difficult. Thankfully, unlike trauma, this is not something they recall."

"Mama!" Peter chimed in, mimicking her word as he clapped his hands and stared up at her. With a smile, she seemed to recover from any of her troubled state that remained.