The Sunspire For in his eye were stars that burned

The moment that Olive had with Dakarai’s body were few — but that is how she wanted it to be. It was strange — but Olive had no real wish to be close to the dead thing that was once her husband. The body she cradled was old and broken, and bore the scars of a world that was much too cruel for him. The druid knew him as he once was, as he would always be, on a soul level; and she felt it now, though his soul was no longer constrained by his body. In a way, she was jealous of his newfound freedom — Dakarai was now closer to the gods than she had ever been in her entire life. He was one with them.

Because she knew Dakarai’s eternal fate to be so grand [for in death the valiant were always rewarded], Olive allowed herself to fully feel the weight of this change — but when she felt the tiny noses of her puppies nestled and nudging into her, Olive found it easy to turn away. Without a big fuss, the tiny druid parted with the cadaver that looked so distinctly out of place upon Sunspire’s borders. This was a place of happiness and sunshine; it was in their name! What had he been doing here? she wondered earnestly, sitting up on her haunches and pulling both her sons close, looking over her should to glimpse at her lover’s crumpled form. What had he wanted? It was so interesting how bad fortune had followed him like flies, even bringing sadness upon his family in his most final of moments. 

It was only when Rannoch came upon them that Olive realized what a fright she looked and what a scene she was a part of — and she was an integral part, the only part that could even try for an explanation. She drew up a forelimb to wipe at the blood that stained her cheeks, perhaps just smearing it further. Then, almost ashamed, Olive leant down to lick at her children’s little bloodstained skulls.  “I know,”  she conceded.  She did not want to be thought of as a bad mother in the way that Dakarai had been a bad father. 

The alpha called for Seabreeze — good idea, though Olive — and in the presence of her sister, her resolve fell once more. As her three children [Eleuthera had wandered and joined the boys not long after] were removed from her side and into the care of her most beloved, the woman felt her voice and strength waver.   “Cassiopeia’s father…”   was the simplest way she could put it without saying something that might be implicating. Certainly, if this had been another wolf in her position, disturbing the peace as she was doing, Olive might have had a problem with it. Rannoch and Liffey had never been anything but kind and gracious leaders — what would prevent them from not continuing to be kind and gracious? Wasn’t this what family was all about? Biting her lip, the shrouded woman whispered 

  “He died.”