Dawnlark Plains couldn't get no silver, couldn't get no gold

"Oh, Sunny," Shale sighed, shaking his head. All that and he felt even more guilty than before, after his nephew was finished speaking. He closed his eyes, taking a deep inhale through his nostrils. Reliving that terrible day, moment by moment. "I'm a man of more than 20 seasons. You didn't need to take care of me--nobody does, save for probably Pema, bless her heart."

He gazed at Sunny once more, smiling sadly. "I lost my head," Shale continued, voice bleak. "And so did you. We both didn't do so well, with your Dad dying. But you don't need to apologize for anything, to me. I promise."

The man drew close to his nephew, pressing his muzzle gently, briefly, against the gray-clad shoulder before stepping back again, tilting his head in inquiry. "Are we okay?" he asked. No matter what he did, the shame would not leave his voice. But perhaps it would fade with time. That's what they said, anyway--that time healed all wounds.