Hushed Willows But I make no plans and none can be broken

It was a full day before Reverie could hold to consciousness longer than a few minutes. She had not asked after her husband. Others flitted about the den, but even as the fog began to lift from her, she paid them little mind. Her eyes were only for her daughters.

Three perfect daughters. They were asleep now, and she could do nothing but stare, reminded so fully of Blossom each time her eyes found them. Her daughters knew nothing of the tragedy they'd been born to; they were peaceful, healthy in spite of the trials of their entrance to the world. And now they would need names.

To her firstborn she gave the name Boone had chosen. Jowey-Winnie Dahlia, for the girl who already so resembled her father that Reverie's heart ached at the sight of her.

Rusty Foxglove for the second daughter, who even now raised a small fuss in all her waking moments. Already it seemed she would never be soothed.

And her last daughter, delicate as she was, could only be called Petal. Forsythia Petal, for the flowers that bloomed even before the first glimpse of spring's green.

Reverie murmured their names to each of them, as she had with Blossom. In time they would come to know themselves, their birthright. In time she would teach them to dance, and Everett would teach them to sing. They would never know the fear and fire of The Gilded Sea, no more than they would know the face of their own father. These hurts were hers to carry — and the future belonged only to them.

She glanced up then, anticipating @Kukutux's return.

three daughters lay bundled at the golden flank. sedna took and sedna gave. 

and kukutux feared that boone would never see them. he had not been found, his trail leading out into the wilderness. she herself had followed the trail of blood until the scents faded, blending with the myriad other tracks which crossed the land.

when the duck returned, her entrance into the den was finished with the way she met reverie's eyes, shaking her head softly. "boone is not here. the day that your children came, he went to find herbs for me. but he did not come back."

she sucked her teeth, clicking tongue; "there was blood upon the snow, reverie, and it goes out and out until it disappears." vague gesture now for the sea.

pain crossed her face as she looked now to the little ones.

She had known. How could she not? Boone's absence hung heavily in the air each moment, unspoken but felt all the same. The words took the breath from her lungs nonetheless. Boone was gone. Gone in a flurry of blood, and he would not come back.

Reverie laughed. The sound was raw and hysterical, tapering into a breathless sob. Her head dropped, mouth pressed against her forelegs to stifle her cries. Was she a widow then? That thought had her bursting back into humorless laughter.

She felt as if she were falling, tumbling from some great height into endless dark. No way to catch herself; nothing but open air. He was gone.

the pain of losing one's lover crushed as if it were stones grinding together at the bottom of a river.

kukutux was silent as reverie wept, reaching for the young woman if she wished.

"i have sent others to search." perhaps word might still be brought.

perhaps boone might still be found. he had not wished to be parted from her, and moonmother regretted now that she had sent him for herbs that nasamiituuq might have brought instead.

She couldn't breathe.

There were others searching, Kukutux said, but he was gone. He would never come back. She knew, she knew because she had felt it. Her sobs turned shuddering, breath catching and threatening to fail, and the air was ice in her lungs and too large all around her, too empty. He was gone.

"Why're you cryin', sweetheart? You don't gotta cry."

Stop it, stop it, you're not here, you're NOT HERE! She shrieked into her paws and she was losing it, losing herself and she couldn't feel her face she couldn't breathe she couldn't live without him not without him not him

Foxglove cried out then, disturbed from her sleep not by the sound but the trembling movement of her sobbing mother. Reverie quieted. She drew ragged, uneven breaths, fighting to steady each one. She reached for her daughter, tucked her close in a bid to soothe the girl. Her frantic eyes found Kukutux, still brimming with tears.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I - What could she say? That her grip on reality was tenuous at best? That Boone had been the one who kept her grounded, who kept her stable? Kukutux would hear these words and see an unfit mother, she was sure. Maybe she would be right. But Reverie was all they had, now. Her gaze dropped from Kukutux to her daughters. I can't - I can't think about this right now. I can't do this, I'll - I won't be - fit to - to raise them. The words broke into another small sob.

He - he would search, if it was me. He would. But I can't, I can't leave them, She fussed over Foxglove, who would not be soothed. Her tears still fell endlessly. I have to - Reverie tried to dry her tears, stifle them before they fell across her precious daughters. I have to hold it together. For them. She was telling herself more than Kukutux. Convincing herself. She could not break now. She couldn't. They were so small, and they needed her.

"reverie," voice firm with motherly knowing, compelling the terrified young woman to look upon her calm face. "you are not alone. do not embrace the thinking that you are alone. you will not search. you will let others look for your husband. you will put each day into these children, yes," kukutux agreed, softening.

"reina has been at your side each day that i have known her. she is learning from me. she is here for you, reverie. and your brothers, they are here. there is power in the blood, mm?"

"so do not think about it. think of them, your daughters. you have power, reverie. you must only reach out and touch it, take it for yourself."

the greenstone eyes glowed resolutely.

Kukutux was a steadying presence, her voice something solid to grasp when Reverie could not catch herself. She spoke of her children, of family, of power. There was truth in the words, Reverie knew that. She nodded slowly as the midwife went on, eyes finally finding hers again.

I know I'm not alone. But they - I'm their leader. I'm supposed to know what to do and how to protect them. And I don't think I do. But you're right, I - I have to try, Her tone was more thoughtful than desolate now, but Reverie was troubled. I want to try.

Power. It was not what she'd dreamed of, but it felt nearly tangible in this moment. Power in raising these children, leading this pack; something she could lose herself in so that she would never need to think about what she'd lost. She could do that, couldn't she?

she touched the gilt shoulder. "i believe in your strength. you must also."

a breath. "we will keep looking. if there is new word, i will bring it." if nothing came, then reverie would understand nothing had moved in what the truth seemed to be.

on motherly impulse she reached for the young mother, drawing her into a maternal embrace that lingered only as long as the woman wished it to be. when they came away, she sent a prayer to the sea goddess for reverie's continued belief in self.