Wheeling Gull Isle the hour of death

Titmouse’s sharp, gasping sob invoked an answering hitch of Seelie’s lungs, evinced in the faint fluttering of her concave flanks. The desperate, lonely way he cleaved to her as she approached was all the invitation she needed — and the jagged edges of inflamed tissue that bordered the exit wound he’d left began to heal. She craned her neck and tried to shield his taller frame from the world that had treated him and Maegi with such needless cruelty. On the tip of her tongue was her customary promise — “Welcome ever,” — but Aditya’s return had made her cautious. “Ever” was a long time, and her trust had been frayed and stormtossed and singed.

After a moment’s hesitation, “Yes,” she breathed simply. “Stay.” She began to bathe his face the moment he pulled back and regarded her with his glimmering gimlet eye. “Missed you,” she hiccupped softly between her ministrations, wondering what had brought him back to her now. Why did he need to stay here? Why now, after leaving without a single word of farewell? Her seabright eyes, glistening with emotion, were briefly contemplative — but she didn’t question her good fortune. She didn’t need to know the answers. She needed to know where her daughter was. She needed to know the seawolves were steady enough to weather the coming storm.

She opened her mouth to tell him about either or both of these things, but almost immediately, she closed it again. Part of it was an altruistic desire not to trouble him; part of it was a reluctance to sully their reunion; mostly, she just didn’t want to talk about it. “Welcome home,” is what she did say, nuzzling lovingly at the corner of his mouth and nibbling at the thick tufts of hair that bordered his cheeks and jaw.