King Elk Forest i will paint you in silver; i will wrap you in cold

nathaniel only looked at her for a long moment, until mona felt the shame of her outburst begining to blossom heat beneath her fur. then came his words; she drank them in with a dawning comprehension, her murkwater eyes darkening as she glanced at the mounded earth beside which the rochester sat.
whatever fight remained in mona left her immediately; the girl's gaze traced the edges of what was surely the resting place of his father. and like her, nathaniel now had lost one of his most enduring ties to this land. her lips moved, but no sound emerged; she was embarassed, and saw now the heaviness of pain in the man's striking eyes, the way it limned his voice.
mona said no more; nathaniel's firebird sat down alongside him with a quiet movement and leant her head gently against his shoulder for a long moment, closing her eyes against the sudden stab of pain that always accompanied thoughts of the father she had never known, and never would. nathaniel had known his father; surely his agony was greater.
after a pause, the girl began to preen the rochester's pelt, worrying away tangles with teeth and lips, her breath warm over a tremble that spoke of her own inner chaos. but they need not speak; not now — mona attended to him gently, offering what she could to the spectre of his grief.