Wheeling Gull Isle All this sand but only one grain changed me

You think I don't know that? Maegi replied, outwardly calm, but with a slight edge in her tone now. She was a little irritated that despite her words, he continued to push back. Irritated that despite her words, she still felt much the same way. And there was nothing she could say or do that could convince either of them otherwise.

She looked down, ignoring his words about "bad company." Boy, he didn't know the half of it. She was the queen of bad company, and was content to wallow in her own sorrow. He had no exclusive right to wallowing, nor self-hate.

Two of my sons died right under my nose, she explained, her voice gone quiet—but not soft. One crushed by a tree, the other frozen to death out in the cold. And the awful thing is, I couldn't have done anything about it. When Anan—the first one died, I moved the pack away from the forest, to open ground. And then the second one wandered off one night and couldn't stay warm.

Maegi returned her gaze to Mal. It was burning, a heated mixture of anguish, frustration, loathing. No matter what I did or where I went, they were still taken from me, she stated firmly. I couldn't do anything right. I couldn't have done anything right. And neither could've you.

A sharp exhale burst through her nostrils and she fell silent, stewing in her own torrent of thoughts.