Moonspear [m] better off (with you)

His own grief, he was aware, must be shadowed by Treepie's. He could, theoretically, move on and find a wife who could bear him children, as expected. Treepie, though... well, maybe she would have to do the same thing. But she'd wanted this. And, he hoped, she'd wanted it with him.

But Kindle could not imagine it. He could not imagine her with someone else any more than he could imagine it for himself. There must be some mistake, surely. He must be doing this all wrong.

He knew better than to say any of that to Treepie, who was already having some kind of conversation with herself. Woman, she said, and his chest burned and his lungs ached.

I love you, he thought again — but again, he did not say it. What help was his love now? All he could do was bend with her, as if the space where her womb should have been was sucking, vacuous thing.

I love you, he thought, helplessly.