Firefly Glen I know a boat you can get on

Antares seemed a bit distant, a bit closed off, like someone trying to save a book's spine by binding it shut, keeping all of its secrets hidden within. Bronco could understand, as he knew the pain, and he also knew what it was like, feeling obligated to hide grief so as to maintain composure, or save others from feeling the pain. While he wanted to help, and relieve that pressure from Antares' shoulders, he wasn't sure he'd be able to do so without shattering into a million pieces himself. They were both treading on the surface of an ice-covered lake, far too thin to support both of them at once. 

He felt pain in his throat as he learned perhaps his first, detailed insight into what exactly had happened when the bear had attacked the pack. Bronco had not asked for specifics, nor did he feel he was able to handle them, knowing how horrible it must have been. He felt as though he might vomit from the burning sensation at the base of his throat but he swallowed hard, trying to keep that pain at bay. Antares felt guilty, just the same as he did. He clenched his jaw. Antares wasn't wounded- so it was easy enough for him to know that he'd not been involved in the struggle with the bear. He likely felt the absence of those wounds in a manner almost as painful as one who'd received them from the bear's fangs. 

So he merely nodded. He wasn't sure telling Antares that he couldn't possibly always be where he was needed, or that he likely had a perfectly valid reason for arriving too late. The borders of the pack were miles and miles and miles- and no wolf could ever be expected to prevent danger, or simply swoop in and fend off an unwelcome trespasser every single time one came to the borders. He couldn't bring himself to say those words because every time he spoke them to himself, he found it harder and harder to believe. He wasn't sure he should be relieved that he wasn't the only one who felt that guilt, or if he should feel bad that Antares felt that way too. 

He drew in a ragged breath, and cleared his throat. "What can I do?" He asked softly. He wasn't sure- but he felt that at least asking such a question might give Antares the option of relieving some of his own stress by allowing him to help out in whatever way he could.