Falls of the Hinterlands Mama, we're meant for the flies

He was soft, warm, toned. She was all edges and bones. Him, the mountain, who couldn't exist without the pebble, her. 
Sacnite smiled softly. She'd made it this far, his worries shouldn't infect her now. Not after all this time. 

"I'm glad," a pause for thought, "you're so much like your father."
Laroche didn't have the strength to stand with her that day against Cry. What would have been was a thought - - a dream - - she orcastrated regularly. 

She sighed. She has survived long enough and will continue to do so. Sacnite didn't need to hunt. And with a sad smile, she looked up to her son again;
"All I have, my boy, is the stars."
That last piece of her husband. Her hope and will. She didn't want to be carted off to beg for a pack. She'll skip through life as it comes and goes. 
The wraith has given up haunting. For now.