Silvertip Mountain and there's a million things i haven't done

It was a terrible thing, what had happened. Now, in the wake of Cortland's tears, he was even more determined to ensure it never happened again. He had failed to keep his friend safe, that was abundantly clear. And the weight of that failure was a stone in his stomach, sitting heavy, immobile. Not only was he bruised, he was broken, inside. The blow to his head had done more damage than he had initially thought.

If he'd kept a better eye on the Mayfair, this wouldn't have happened in the first place. He couldn't keep a perpetual stare locked on Cortland. . .but he could do better. He would do better.

"It's all right," he repeated softly, nuzzling the boy's cheek. "Let it all out." He would stay as long as needed; forever, if that was what it took. Every teardrop was an indictment against his carelessness, every bruise a stain on his conscience. It was not only his desire but his duty to be here, by Cortland's side.