Redhawk Caldera you must become an island.

He froze. Her words hit him like a punch to the stomach. He had to steady himself to keep from losing his balance and teetering into the water. In a sense, she was right; she had been carrying their children, and they had passed away. But that didn't meant that she had killed them. There was nothing purposeful about it, and he had reassured her of that time and time again. Sometimes, nature just had to take its course.

But that didn't make it any easier to accept. There had still been tiny lives lost; little firebirds of their own that would never know their cousins or aunts and uncles or the caldera itself. It would have been easy to blame Finley, but somewhere, deep inside his heart, Elwood knew that he didn't. He could try to convince her that he did -- he could throw hateful words at her, send her running like she so badly wanted to.

Instead, he felt himself getting to his feet. He stepped down from the rock, circling around Finley and folding his body against hers. He expected to be met with some resistance, but he came to rest his chin on her shoulder, closing his eyes even as hot tears pricked at his lids. "No, you didn't," he whispered. They could try again -- they could prepare themselves, ensure that she stayed healthy, and raise a litter together. Couldn't they?