Arrow Lake trauern

He withered with her—not in a fall to the ground but to catch her, as she had always hoped someone would do after years of having to remain strong. She missed the cheeky girl that had initially joined the ranks of Diaspora, and she blankly wondered if that girl had died along with her mate.

He spoke, continuing to soothe her as she curled in to his side, embracing his warmth, his comfort. The sun began to paint the mountains in daylight, and she stared at it bleakly—how did everything still look the same when everything had changed?

He spoke of a wife, and she pulled her gaze toward him, nose tipping up to graze the underside of his dark chin in quiet comfort. She could tell him she was sorry—but the ministrations in her touch would portray that, or so she hoped. She had not known the man had been mated once before.

She wanted to argue—to admonish and remind not just him but herself the unfairness of it all, as she and Stigmata had only just found one another. The last testament to their love for one another now lie in the den, sleeping, not far from them. And she would do everything in her power to salvage that. They were the reason she would forge through fire after fire.

Curling closer, the ivory sylph tucked herself to him, her muzzle burying to his chest as she cried silently—the rise and fall of her chest the only indication of the miserable sobs she barely swallowed, so as to not wake her children. “Takiyok and I. We did this, didn’t we, Mahler? He was pulled in too many directions… He was…” She trailed off, one paw swiping up to rub at the side of her muzzle as she attempted to compose herself. She did not even know the cause of his death—but the General, in his formidable glory, would not have fallen had he not been so distracted. Of that she was sure.