Wheeling Gull Isle Another second lost with every falling grain

With Maegi on one side and Mou swiftly filling the other, they made a white-gold sandwich out of Niamh. It felt odd to be physical with someone who had tried so desperately to murder him; as soon as his skin came in contact with her own he trembled, which was thankfully lost among the bodily processes of the women. Something moved in them and they shared a moment. Mou adjusted to the sensation of being a support, and began the careful process of extracting Niamh from the shallows to seek shelter among their people.

She sounded weary. Heartbroken, maybe. It was not a version of Niamh that Mou ever thought he would see and he sympathized even without her story; together they would keep her safe. She nudged at him, pressing her face against Mou's shoulder and he almost froze in surprise, but made himself relax for the sake of the unborn. The twisted pink scar upon his throat was protected by the black leather collar he wore, but he still felt a sick sensation and an imagined warmth from where the wound sat.

He had to put that all aside for the sake of the future. Maybe this would be a chance to reconnect with her and make things better.