Moonspear I will die your daughter.

Aside from some parting words Treepie couldn’t hope to understand, Hokulani’s departure was uneventful. The yearling remained stiff, eyes tracking her every movement until she was out of sight. Only when Hakumele spoke did Pie’s narrowed eyes eventually shift, widening slightly as she regarded his familiar features.

You never said, Pie blurted, only to bite her tongue and leave the sentence unfinished.

She realized she felt a little angry with him, though she wasn’t sure that was reasonable. At the moment, she wasn’t entirely sure of anything. Tiuttuk needed a moment—maybe many—to fully process what had just happened. In the meantime, she couldn’t resist punctuating her pack mate’s statement.

You won’t be the only one, she said quietly, sucking in a breath and adding, I need some time to decompress after that. I’ll see you later, Haku.

Perhaps there was a slightly apologetic look in her eye as she turned from him, perhaps not. Pie didn’t bother trying to school her expression as she walked stiffly away from the borders, seeking the comfort and solace of a familiar thinking ledge.