Silverlight Terrace if you were on fire, i'd roast marshmallows

Cypress bobbed his head as he was introduced, maintaining his generally stoic expression, but even he had to crack a lopsided half-grin when the girl cited a certain family resemblance between the three young runaways. It was nicer this way. Nicer to look at Rian and Rannoch and call them both his brothers than to say the ostracizing mouthful: “Rannoch and I are brothers and Rian’s our cousin.” To be honest, though, Cypress was pretty sure if anybody had to guess, he’d be pegged as the cousin. His stygian pelage bore a sharp contrast to the other two’s agouti fur, as did his eerie yellow eyes in comparison to their jade green and turquoise ones. They even sounded better together: Rannoch and Rian. The alliteration was pleasing.

And with the addition of Rose —

Quite suddenly, Cypress decided that he didn’t like thinking quite so much about the differences he marked anew between himself and Rannoch, but he couldn’t stop. He’d always been this way — focusing on and obsessing over the ways he didn’t seem to match or measure up to his father and brother. His veiled visage tautened slightly, but apart from that he made no indication of his inner turmoil, keeping his quiet baritenor slow and easy as he asked, “What’s it like being a medic? Did someone teach you?” He assumed that his peers figured out what they wanted to do by observing their parents because Scimitar’s example had factored largely into how he and Rannoch had made their own decisions, but he didn’t know for sure. He forbore from commenting on her previous statement, as it seemed silly for him to do so; if she didn’t know what she was looking for, he didn’t see how they could offer to help her find it.