Sun Mote Copse This is the thread that never ends.

Even when you know a thing, it somehow still hurts when you hear the words spoken out loud. It would be as if someone were to remind him of Wiffle's passing today. It's a painful spot that will always remain an old injury, a scar of sorts but one that doesn't quite close. Over the years he gathered more and more of those scars, and they were becoming so many that it often felt as if he was not quite sure where to put his paws to avoid getting wounded in the process. Today was another one of those days. He knew it from the moment that he laid eyes on his siblings.

A thick gulp only partially masked the pain when he was forced to stand on the wound, not yet a scar but raw and wild and bleeding; when Towhee said the words. He was grateful; grateful that she said the words so that his baby siblings did not need to. He wished he could be there for them right then but balancing from paw to paw was all he could do to prevent himself from bleeding out right there in that moment.

All he did was nod, with his eyes shining with emotion. He nosed briefly the cheeks of Penn and Avery -- rushed gestures that were almost like a father's or caretaker's instinct to lap up some of their pain so it might become more bearable for them -- and then he nodded again at Towhee as she said that they should go there and lay them to rest.

Somehow it was easier not to speak. He greatly admired Towhee and Penn for being able, but he did not judge Avery for being unable. He was not able either, after all. He nodded at Penn when he said what way they were. Eljay didn't really want to see his parents' dead bodies, but he knew that he must. It was imperative for the healing of this wound, to allow it to become a scar, that he must first yank it open and make it bleed more. He frowned as he braced himself, even though he knew that there was no preparation in this world that could prepare him for what was to come.