Sun Mote Copse o quam sancta

Snapping down on his ear, the Ekar-Aji would not accept his gesture comfort. He yelped, a sharp sound of pain escaped him. Skittering backwards, Ar-Khalba's ears layed flat against his skull. He lowered himself, knowing that it had been his own mistake. His judgement had been clouded by his fondness for his queen -- his relationship with her mistaken to be one of kindness. He would not make the same mistake again.

Prostrating himself into a position of submission, he allowed his queen the space she desired. Then, meeting her gaze, Ar-Khalba could see the glint in her eye that he had once mistaken for kindness. He remained silent, allowing her to unload all of her grief upon him. 

He met her gaze with one of empathy. Sacrifice was always difficult, and it was always most difficult on the parents themselves. It was both a great honor and a great sadness to know that his firstborn litter had been chosen by Molech. He had no advice to give -- nothing of worth. Instead, the man spoke a proverb in which he had been taught in his rearing. "We all belong to Molech," he said, hoping it would give his lover the comfort she desired. Some simply became one with the many armed God sooner -- but all within the light shared the same fate.