Broken Antler Fen We don't need to be related to relate.

Wraen stopped to ask what'd happened to Towhee's youngest son, favoring her with a sympathetic look. The Sovereign recoiled from that expression. She didn't deserve it. First of all, Marten had died in her care. Secondly, she'd been too busy crabbing about comparatively meaningless shit to remember to tell one of her closest friends about the tragedy altogether. The self-loathing was real.

Choking it down a bit, Towhee said, "I woke up one morning and he was dead. I don't know what happened," she admitted, "but I know it's my fault. I can't believe..." No, she really couldn't believe they'd gotten this far into the conversation before she'd bothered recollecting.

For that matter, Towhee should be kicking herself for her overall lack of sadness over it. She'd mourned harder for her miscarried babies than she had Marten. She knew why: she hadn't had three other rambunctious youngsters to look after then. Her remaining trio was utterly distracting, she almost couldn't believe she'd ever managed four. Guilt tripped through her heart even as she shook her head.