Wapun Meadow the smell of home, like sour peaches and linen

He spat sour saliva into the grass and reeled away from it, flattening his ears against the ringing in his head. Suddenly, it was all he could do to keep standing. His careful composure the last few days began to unravel as images of little fetuses nestled in his mate’s belly intruded his mind. Mad little fetuses, as mad as Merrick, as mad as—

Her voice cut sharply through his scattered thoughts, bringing his head up and around and then abruptly down again. Shame and guilt found a home in his heart. He had left her alone, for days now, the very thing she feared, and she was still only worried about him.

She didn’t appear to be changed. Perhaps the worry was for nothing. Perhaps... But he could not shake the image from his mind of little bodies bleeding in the grass and he could not bring himself to ask. Just a whiff of something bad, he said hoarsely, working his tongue against the inside of his mouth. He could not look at Arielle, so he stared hard at his paws, his tail switching erratically back and forth.