Phantom Hollow the cover of the wings of grasshoppers

Damien approaches and joins her, and she gives him a stilted nod of greeting, her face turning wry as he speaks. I cannot imagine what would give you that idea, she shoots back, definite pique in her tone, although her voice is not cruel. There's a smile upon her face, fleeting, vanishing at his question. Megara sighs, staring off toward the whelping den, among the dismal landscape.

Everything, she responds cryptically. This exodus. This uncertainty. I have no doubt in your strength of leadership, nephew, but I cannot help but worry. Pups should be born at home, not in some temporary place. Circumstances have been poor. I have no blame, I just. . .

Her indigo gaze cuts over to Damien's own icy one, respectful but gimlet. I have seen countless Melonii litters brought into the world, and I fret over each and every one, she admits. My family and my bloodline will always be my greatest weakness. Megara's brows raise in gentle query. Do you have a plan, Damien? What comes next?