Lost Creek Hollow locus

"ashlar. little ashlar, brave ashlar, beloved ashlar," mona murmured in a sing-song to him, lowering her muzzle above his still-deaf ears that he might perhaps catch the vibrations of her speech. now, then, mona's thoughts turned to her firstborn, a twisted and silent girl who had not moved in her caul. 
mona sobbed again, recalling how when she had gained strength after the birth of her son, she had brought the little body between her forepaws and committed every detail to memory. the finely formed paws, the somber divot in the tiny spine, the too-short muzzle. beautiful all the same. mona had buried her in a budding ring of violets not far from the den.
"angelique," she whispered now in a broken tone, lying her muzzle alongside ashlar's small body. "that is her name. angelique rowan mayfair."