Ouroboros Spine xlvvi. ringing in my head, when you broke my chest

A strange guilt settled heavily beneath her breastbone. For what, she couldn't quite define -- for having suffered while he faced so much worse beyond their borders maybe, for not being stronger. "Not as much as for you, I imagine," she wisped softly, gaze falling to the pups nestled against her. She had mourned him, she had thought him dead but Adrastus had to fight his way back to her -- never knowing the entire time if she might think him lost for good, not knowing if he had children at home. 

Lótë wanted to go to him, embrace him, tend to his wounds. But a glance down again reminded her why she couldn't just yet. 

Likewise, she wanted to assure the Baptiste that she had never given up on him -- that she had always, always known he would come back. But the words -- the lies -- wouldn't come. 

As soon as her children had grown old enough and she had healed enough, she had planned to fast and sing the death songs. She had lost hope.

Again, remorse swelled into a lump in her throat that she had to force back down her gullet. 

There were more important things, however. "Come and meet your children," she urged him -- gently, despite how her tail beat against the ground. "They're all special in their own right."