Moonspear you could turn my sorrow into song

He leaned into her touch and she molded her paw to the cut of his cheekbone, cradling his face. Meerkat felt the friction as he shook his head in reply to her question. Her toes went still, though she did not lower her foreleg as she waited for him to speak.

Three simple words fell from his lips: “Sobo is dead.” Her head drew back as if her husband was a furnace and she couldn’t quite bear the heat, though her paw still lingered on his face. She felt nothing toward Njord’s miserable firstborn, yet her heart wept for her husband’s loss. That was his son, no matter their disenfranchisement.

Meerkat searched for words of comfort. She had experienced shades of this pain, when Mercy had departed, then again when Swordfish had gone both times. Of course she knew the misery of worrying over a wounded child as well. But this was something else. She could barely comprehend it, though it was one of her worst fears.

Oh, Njord, she whispered, blinking. I’m so sorry. I— She paused, realizing this must have happened days ago, yet he’d never said a word while he followed her to the ends of the earth. I’m so sorry, Meerkat repeated raggedly, bringing her other foreleg up to wrap both around his neck, pulling him into a hug. You carried this alone for days, mo chride, she breathed against his neck, weeping for him.