Haunted Wood This is Ripley, last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off

She spoke to him as though he were a friend. 

Nostromo almost believed it. For a second, his tail wavered back and forth. It was a light airy movement, as though the air were doing it instead of it being an extension of the storm hound. The look on his face was void. His eyelashes fluttered over the glow of yellow-orange before he spoke, "yes."

The voice from the xenomorph was alien. A hollowed rasping thing from the bottom of his throat. Nostromo lived there, or he would for the next while. The forest was a great stretch that would house and feed him for weeks still. And with visitors like her... Nostromo prowled toward her, closing much of the gap that separated the stormy male from the friendly woman.