Moonspear one

his reassurances are met with silence, her mind working still. he's wrong. is he right? he sits, gaze moving to rest on the cracked ice. her own remains on him, muzzle lowering slightly as she tries to still the frantic burn beneath her skin. his words go uncontested; some part of her wants to believe them without doubt, but the larger part of her makes that impossible. 

she shifts, moving finally to sit as he does. "but how?" she asks finally, in reference to his final words. "she still gave birth to us, abandoned us, chose not to love us. I can't ignore that, I can't — she chose a lie over us." her tail lashes, sharply, irritation prickling all along her spine. she can not put word to most of the abstract, sharp-edged thoughts, exhaustion and reason can no longer dull the blade of her hate.