~Empty chairs at empty tables, where my friends shall sing no more~{J}

A weight dropped in the boy when Linnéa spoke her story, and he felt that gentle burn of bitter ire claw at his stomach again. Another family destroyed by wildcats. Could they ever leave them alone? But his thoughts did not linger upon the brutes for long, stolen instead by the guilt befallen the cinnamon girl's voice. Malachi took in her every word and a gentle empathy brewed at the depth of his heart.

He met her loud emotion with a quiet look of understanding, and spoke not when she turned her eyes upon him. It was not her fault, but he did not tell her so. The words would feel hollow upon his tongue, stranger that he was. Instead, he lowered himself until he crouched on level plane with her. The similarities between this girl and Maera, though different in many ways, remained uncanny, and the empathy he could share from his own troubles struck compassion in the sundry boy. "Be still," he said, and though he wished to give her a nudge of comfort, Malachi restrained himself from drawing too near. Duskfire could not replace the family she had lost, but they could offer her a new start and a safer haven among their ranks. "You will have a place among us."