Whitebark Stream That's the role of poetry: to say what others cannot utter.

she blinks, but does not shift. it is forward, certainly, but was not seeking him out when her heat had first started forward too? if anything, his forthcomingness is appreciated, though the thought gives her pause. in truth, she'd not long considered what was to come after this. 

she meets his gaze as he seeks hers, gaze steady. tongue moves briefly over her lip, though as he elaborates, it makes sense. it is what she wants, truly. in youth, she'd longed after the open future, the kind with no constraints, no promises, just adventure and adaptability. but then had come the end of her first mateship, the death of her father, the fire, the missing, the wandering; the never remaining any place long. and above all, the overarching grief, guilt, loss. 

"no," she begins, "you're right. stability—I want that too." she wants it then, this, but he doesn't know. and he must. 

her gaze drops, and she moves to sit back on her haunches. "but first, I need to tell you something." her brow furrows, she chews on her lip. she wants to accept, to talk about only the future - but he needs to know all of the truth, all of her failings. "when I was young—a yearling, I think—I met a man who came from the sea. his name was aditya, and we grew close. I loved him, with whatever I thought that word meant at the time. we became mates, and for a time, things were good." 

her gaze shifts to the dirt, then. "but as time went on, things became strained. I was young, and didn't want to be bound by love, by pups, by a future all laid out from me; he was older, and wanted all that. eventually, we—we slept with other people. we grew to hate each other." a pause, the shame comes back. her shoulders hunch as she remembers the fight, the pain. "we were separated when a fire burned down out territory. he fled back to the coast, I tried to find the missing. last spring, we met again."

"I don't know why I went back to him. maybe he was a symbol of all that I'd lost, a reminder of the family I'd had. my first heat came, we settled down in a nearby pack, and I had two children—Stone, and Brook." a tiny curve of her muzzle, then. it had been hard, at first; but those perfect days, touched with love and simple happiness, were when she'd been truly at her happiest. "he was distant. but one day—the children were two months old, then—he vanished. I found his blood, fur outside the territory, and his scent led away. Stone and Brook, they were gone too. for weeks I searched, but it was if they'd disappeared entirely. I was their mother, their protector, and I lost them." she draws in rattling breath, turning away. tears sting, she squeezes shut her gaze and twists away. she tenses, turns back to him. 

"I need you to know. all I've done, and failed to do, before you make that offer. and if—if you want to step away, I won't fault you."