Moonspear raised high, brought low

For what seemed like an eternity, they exchanged nothing but a gaze. It was one that he could drown in, one that carried a torn love and a painful vulnerability. The door was at a crack, a slit of light through the door teasing him to invitingly. It felt like all of the lust and love he had felt for the weeks of her heat had evaporated, and he did not know if it was simply the absence of hormones or something deeper that had changed this.

He stood and watched, locking gazes for a long time, his expression hardened, like a feelingless sentinel, not allowing his pain to show. He was not sure if he hid how he felt because he needed to be the strong one, make sure everyone knew everything was alright even when it wasn't. Or maybe it was something deeper, something more subconscious; a fear that if he showed his pain, he would inevitably also show the resentment he felt towards her and Flóki — perhaps even himself, but that was one that would likely only surface at the very end, when there was no one else left to blame — for allowing this to happen.

It had to have been minutes — but felt like hours — before he eventually poked his nose through that crack of light and came into motion. His movements felt unnatural and scripted as he slowly walked towards the water. He felt nothing but numbness as his paws hit the stream's cold water and as it lapped at his stomach as he drew closer through the water. He halted, far enough away, but perhaps too far, and looked at her in silence, then looked at the water as though hoping he might be able to catch something to eat. Fish tasted rubbish, but it would be a good diversion away from anything that resembled coping.