Hideaway Strath too soon

Lotte’s chief emotion now was annoyance. She didn’t have time to be injured; Hemlock was due to whelp soon and Ceallach and Eirlys still hadn’t been given their songs. It was in this moment that the soturi realized her grave mistake in dwelling on things she could not change while ignoring those nearest to her, and her face seemed to crumple, naked in that quick flash of grief. “I did not bring them home!” she wanted to cry out. “All of this was for nothing!” She couldn’t get the air to vent her regrets, though, and she lay with blood trickling from her nostrils and mouth — but no other open wounds to speak of. She’d bitten her tongue in the fall, but as she moved it listlessly within the confines of her tightly clenched jaws she found it still worked. If she parceled out each fading breath, she believed she could speak — but she had to be careful about what she spent them on. “Liekkikukka,” she breathed urgently in the split second before Arturo arrived. “Take care of — ”

Arturo broke before his mate’s eyes, and her soot-stockinged paws scrabbled with weak futility as she itched to worm nearer to him and assuage his hurts. A faint spark came back to her moonbright gaze, but it was fleeting, born of love and urgency but dulled again with the weakness of her broken body. “Rakas, Turo,” she tried to soothe him, wishing she could lie to him. “I am not dying!” she wanted to protest, but he swam before her in rippling waves. This was worse than the fire and worse than battle; she knew it as well as they did. Between gasps, “I am so sorry,” is what she said instead, though she couldn’t elaborate as to why. She thought he would understand — she was sorry she hadn’t brought Chusi, Roarke, and Sirius home; sorry she had wasted her last months on earth gallivanting all over the Teekons instead of staying home with her family; sorry their time had been so cruelly cut short.

Her eyes filled along with her writer’s at Arturo’s outpouring of love, and she twisted her muzzle in an attempt to snake it saucily against his. It was an attempt that failed, but her tail thumped the ground weakly in response. “I love you,” she said, “both of you, as much as Dagfinn.” To any other wolf it might have seemed a poor compliment, but Arturo and Hemlock knew how tightly woven the tapestry of Lotte and Dagfinn’s twinned souls were, and they would understand. Her eyes scanned the shadows but the children she’d made with Arturo were nowhere to be seen — and while part of her regretted that, she was also somewhat grateful for it. “Take care — ” she gasped and coughed, a fresh bout of bright red blood spilling from her nose. “Babies,” she said, trying to look at both Hemlock and Arturo at the same time, her argent eyes flickering weakly. “You — ”

Her face spasmed again, this time with pain, as she registered what was truly happening. The tears that had gathered in her eyes spilled down her cheeks as she dragged in another breath and spent it on: “Love — always — nightingale — ” and then, in a very Lotte-like manner, her last words ended up being an insisted and very unromantic: “No! Not dying — no wolf — ” She struggled briefly, and then her body seemed to relax utterly, and the last of the light went out of her eyes.