Herbalists' Cache sleeping mist

watching star eater lean heavily upon her women, some rage escaped her mate. worry took its place, worry mingled with a goodly amount of pride.

blackfell's demand to fight incensed him for its irony; he loudly scoffed. "you say she your queen? now she in pain. fear," he snapped. "you want her worry too?" a mind split, torn between worry for their fighting and the focus she must have in childbirth.

he was to be a father, and blackfell had nothing. he had this piece of ground and its bloodied stand, but he fought for nothing. even his earlier wolf-kill had been for naught; he had thrown aside saatsine. a murderer, killing hungry men for no reason save his own ego.

he was to be a father! blackfell had no wife, no clan, no lineage. nothing. sun eater felt himself more masculine, stronger, hale, virile; the beautiful starwoven had chosen him and chosen to bear his young. 

the fire in sun chieftain's remaining eye warned the blackbird not to misuse him. bad luck to spill more blood on the eve of his children's birth, but he would do it, and a hackle-raised snarl said it so. "she choose me, blackfell. she choose saatsine." and none of the other's harsh words, his accusations, his falsehoods, and his anger would ever change that truth.

he took no more steps in an attempt at peace. if the fool wished to harp about his queen before and attack her chosen now behind that blessed back, so be it.