Duck Lake I never listen, but I see it with my eyes closed

There it was—it burned brightly in her eyes, at first—and then from her tongue.

It wasn’t that he was impassive at the vehemence of her words, but as it had been since the beginning of this era, he knew he would be damned if he said anything to her, or if he did not.

He withheld the weary sigh that wished to cross his lips—the vitriol of her words and knowing nothing could bridge this gap between them. The accusation that he was never around certainly felt like a double edged sword—

— to know the weeks he held her and her brothers in Kvarsheim, ensuring they nursed when Jakoul disappeared from their lives. To know that the times he had to be away—such as the time a terrified Reverie insisted a witch hunted for her, and he tried to turn the tables to keep his pack and children safe—were remembered over every other night that he was within the den with them… and when they were older, the way he slept just outside it.

When had he truly been gone? To Akashingo, for over a week, perhaps? Was that her memory of her childhood she fixated upon?

If he approached her, he was overbearing. If he kept his distance, he was neglectful.

“Ditto,” he wanted to return—but that wasn’t fair. He was supposed to be the adult in this situation—not the moody teenager.

“I’ve always cared, @Mae.” She could believe it, or she could not—he might not have been able to be there physically at all times, but everything he had done had been for his kids, his pack, or the alliances he had promised. Of that, he felt was his truth.