Silvertip Mountain sometimes it makes me wonder why i even bring the thunder

Admist the abysmal lulls that Aurëwen had taken watch for their daughter, it was the ruinous thunder of her love that had her soaring from their hideaway, their precious star at her hocks; eventually flitting by the mauve and scarlet posts with a white-limned look of Stay.

And when she arrived, Isilmë at her side—
​Oh. Oh.

The beast within her from before went rigid, though, as the red tang of blood came with that scenting, and as natfaya roared so did she; her soul dropping in the pressure of a mother’s wrath; it all metamorphosed into a guttural heart-keen of “Nakuvan tye!” into the evendim; her red face melded into a howling, fearsome masque of tempestuous fury.

All her study, all her greenseeing was now washed from her by the rain from the gloaming heavens. She would never forgive ever again ever—

What was left in its wake was a she-wolf now utterly sworn to the bloodletting of those who had done this to her baby her child her son their son their boy and she would heal him and he must breathe he must breathe he must live his heart must beat and she was kneeling and wailing lungs stuttering kissing his head his ruined cheek

and there was agony agony agony as Aurëwen choked on her own tears unending in “Anarinya.”