Cedar Sweep but rye love isn't good love, boys; Did I ever tell you 'bout the time I -

Their words reached him, distantly, but if he had not heard them, exhaustion would still have ended the fight before it began. Dagfinn allowed Amber to separate them, his breath coming in uneven gasps as he tried to wrap his head around what they were saying. His vision swam worse than ever, and the young male sank to his haunches, shaking like a leaf.

"N-n-not m-mine?" he asked, reeling. How could they not be his? He'd mounted her, lost himself, and when sensebility'd found him he'd been locked within her. He felt locked, now, trapped by the blue of her gaze and the razor edges to her words. He was not the father, but a stand-in. Young. Too young, she said. Maybe he was.

Blue eyes wandered from the dark beauty before him to the older stranger that'd claimed his family. He stood impassively behind her, but there was something a lot like pity in his eyes. Surges of anger wracked the young male's body, but he did little but shake with them. What use was fighting? What use was anything he did? What use was all his striving, the rabbits he'd left forgotten at the edge of the Sweep? What use was he, that Amber thought to just throw him away?

He wanted to be relieved by this. He was not going to be a father, and there should be a weight lifting off of him - but the heartbreak was too real, too sudden. He was not just being relieved of children, but of her. Amber.

"But..." he protested weakly, gazing searchingly at the woman. "But we are... we mated. Doesn't - don't I mean anything to you?" he asked, eyes begging.