Her face softens (if it can be called that, what with her fangs) into a smile at the praise. Taura leans forward and reaches out one big, clawed hand to take Ford's for a second, squeezing gently.

"I was part of a small batch of experimental prototypes for genetically modified soldiers, and the planet I grew up on is essentially an enormous, well-organized black market." She's alright, though. "I'm well rid of it. The people who made me can't have me back. I have better people now."