Dawnlark Plains i watched the fire that grew so low

He'd sat vigil by Grayday's body, finally succumbing to sleep when his own body couldn't hold out any longer. Sunny had wanted his father to be buried, but Shale had interjected--the Sameth tradition was to let the bones sit for a month before being interred. He wanted to keep most of his brother's body here, but a single bone or two, he would take to Silvertip Mountain. He hadn't forgotten the look in Day's eyes when they'd taken Chaska's bones there; it was a place clearly close to his heart, and part of his remains should rest there.

His dreams had been filled with happy things--memories of childhood. Of pouncing on his brother's tail, of Sunspot's lilting voice chastizing them for some reason or another. All cuddled together, a silvery gray mass, close to their mother. The time when Grayday still had both eyes, no scars, the weight of the world not yet on his shoulders. . .nor Shale's.

Shale woke with a shiver, amber eyes slowly moving toward the still form close by. His grief had been turbulent, almost angry, for a while, but now it had faded into complete and utter emptiness. And denial. Every second, he expected the body to stir again, for Day to wake up from what was just a long, luxurious nap. He supposed that was why he stayed--to see him move. Please, please just fucking move. Let it all be a dream.

First Murdock, now Grayday. Loss on loss. He thought of Pema, then, her belly laden with pups, and sudden fear paralyzed him. Oh gods, what if he lost her too?  And the babes? He wouldn't be able to go on. Shale lay completely motionless by the body, mind at war. He needed to go to Pema--but he needed to be here, too.

In case Grayday moved. In case he woke up.