Swiftcurrent Creek If ever I could love, I think it could be with you.

He told her not to apologise, pressing on in confession that it was he who failed their son. The dragoness pressed her velvet ears back against her crown, her tongue eager to counter his claim, but she knew there was no use in arguing. She and Constantine had done enough of that to last a lifetime, and the only communication she could manage to offer was the silent assurance in her watery gaze that the fault could never be entirely his own.

Durnehviir wasn't sure if the shadowrunner purposely skirted over the implication behind her words: that she'd been wrong about him, that she should've trusted him over her gut. She'd so tried to, every day that she looked upon him and imagined his coupling with a she-wolf he once longed for, and failed. Her heart yearned for her to press the matter again, to be more open about what she meant, but the very real fear that Constantine would reject her entirely prevented her from presenting the topic again.

"About a weeks' travel, South from here," she answered, "I do not know the pack's name, but he was safe there." A small comfort, but more than she could hope for, and she would hold the knowledge close alongside the wish that one day her baby might forgive her.