Dawnlark Plains I dreamt about you nearly every night this week

With Pema in the very last stages of her pregnancy, Shale was a donkey on the edge. He was sure he was driving her up the walls with his constant questions--"How are you?", "Are you hungry?", "Do you need anything?", "What can I do?"--but the questions were, in truth, the only thing keeping him from going mad. Everything bad that could happen to her or the babes was ever-present in his mind, and haunted his dreams.

He was joyful, sure--but he'd never been this scared before. The fear was a jagged edge on that joy, cutting, ruinous.

Much to Pema's relief--and his own, too--he left the den site and wandered toward one of the caches, looking to make himself useful. Dawn was there, sorting out the rotted stuff. His face fell as he saw her, knowing that the last time they had properly interacted was next to Grayday's freshly dead body, when she'd been grieving and he'd been out of his mind.

Ears flattened with remorse and embarrassment, he strolled up to her with a soft chuff, halting a few feet away. "Hey, Dawn," he greeted, trying to keep his tone casual. The ghost of a smile lit his face. "How are you?"