Redhawk Caldera But I can't fight anymore for you

His silence stemmed from the fact that he'd begun to hold his breath, as though clinging to it might keep him attached to whatever shred of composure he was supposed to have. His expression would've been difficult to read even if she had been able to see him. He knew was death was, of course, he'd witnessed it. And his mind cruelly superimposed the face of his mother on the body of another he'd seen, slain, dry tongue hanging out and eyes vacant. 

That was Niamh, now. But likely rotting, somewhere. Not defiant and proud, not vicious and selfish, but also not maternal or quick-witted or any of the good things she had been. She wouldn't hurt him anymore but she left him short yet another family member. What caused him to break was a thought that made him shudder and draw in a shaky breath. 

Was she with Colt, now? 

His breathing was ragged and he felt horribly vulnerable as he tried to steady himself and fight back a sob. That thought wounded him profoundly, knowing that now...Both his parents were dead. His sweet brother Primrose was dead, and Nellie, Alyx and Quetzal were away. Loneliness had an edge more keen than the sharpest sword. 

"Oh," He uttered shakily. His jaw trembled. "Uhhhm. B-but...The kids?" He wasn't sure he could fixate on or talk about his mother's death, considering how unreal and painful it felt. So he attempted to at least delay that process and hopefully hear some good news about the kids, the last thing Niamh left behind.