Swiftcurrent Creek that gun is loaded, but it's not in my hand

The demanding bark drew his eyes to her—perhaps she would see the hollowness that clung to him—Cygnet, while stubborn, was perceptive in so many ways. He blinked, gaze tracing now to the stomp of an ivory foot—the bare of her teeth.

His ears slid back—but it was not fangs that exposed themselves now, but more of his soul as he allowed the weight of his grief to slide him into a sit. He watched Cygnet, he didn’t know if she had been familiar with his daughter, but—

“Lilitu is dead,” he told her, his words quiet. ‘And I think I might be, too,’ he would have added, but there was little energy left to engage in such a thought.

Lilitu was dead, and so were his unborn children.