Wheeling Gull Isle [M] hey, Blue: here is a song for you

He watched in muted fixation as Maegi did the work; cleaned up the child in a fit, then tucked her in among her larger siblings. Mou wanted to stay there and give comfort to his wife, but found that the sight of her sobbing over those little writhing bodies only made him feel worse, and besides, he could not think of what to do or say to alleviate the pain of the loss for her. It was a deep loss that the mother felt; Mou was far removed from that, as he did not carry the children himself or birth them. His part had been played already.

When she asked him to take the dead ones, to bury them within the pit that contained Niamh - or near enough, he was a little addled by the sight of his new, perfect daughter - Mou knew he could oblige her that much. He hurried to gather them up; yet when he fetched each contorted newborn, he grasped them carefully. He went on to place each of them together outside of the den and out of sight, so that he could make one last journey inside to visit with Maegi. With the girl.

He lightly nosed at the bundle, afraid to spook the older children or disturb Maegi, and stole a few moments. The new baby smell was intoxicating. The sight of her little sides heaving to breathe, or toes reaching out at Maegi's teats, were glorious and short-lived. Before long Mou was escaping again to finish what was asked of him.

The lost children would be mourned. The father would dig more graves, smaller ones, deep beside Niamh. It almost felt like a justified trade, Mou thought; he had made the choice to save Niamh's children and perhaps in doing so, cursed his own.