The Bracken Woods blood thorns [m]

it was her own fault this time, red leaf thought.
she should have expected this. should have learned by now that cen's grief was not to fade so quickly or easily; she should be more understanding.
but she isn't. this time, she makes the horrible mistake of fighting back — not with her teeth, nor her claws, but with the saliva that dribbles down her cheek and lands upon cen's clenched knuckles. with the way her pupils constrict, eyes squeezed shut while she silently prays for the spirits to have mercy on her; to make the inevitable welts that will form easy to hide; and in the way she whisper-shouts to him in the throes of terror, voice stricken with her own grief and regret; you could have married one of your own!
she, too, had lost. and it was not only her son, but her husband. how is one meant to grieve two at once?
but there had to be something remaining; there had to be. she had just seen it. there had to be a reason he had not yet left her.
when her lungs finally fill with frigid air and she is certain cen has taken what he wanted from her, red leaf drags the chunks of caribou to her bedside and returns to her work with trembling limbs. she worries it will now take her twice as long as it would have before.
she wishes she could just go to bed.