Hushed Willows Nothing like you could last forever

Each morning she woke and it was real again. He was gone again. In the night she clutched the pelts that still smelled of him and dreamt him at her side, dreamt his warmth all around her, and it was easy to forget. So easy to reach out half-asleep under slivers of dawnlight, expecting to kiss his cheek or tuck him closer.

Then she woke, and he was gone again.

It was real, but it wasn't. Some part of her still waited to see him around every corner, to find him asleep in their den or spot him fishing at the lake from afar. So many times she turned with his name on her lips and remembered, and her voice caught in her throat and her eyes welled with tears. He was gone. She could scarcely fathom it.

Reverie had held so much resentment in those final days. He'd left her to lead the pack alone; she knew herself well enough to know that the path ahead was never a happy one. She'd meant only to raise their children together. Her love for him had never dwindled, but the fear and stress and self-loathing and questioning, so much questioning of herself and him and all the promises — all of it had soured the taste of his love.

Still she'd wanted to give him the future she'd promised. She loved him. That had never been in question.

And he was gone.

It felt so trivial now. Did it matter whether she wanted to be his wife? He was gone. And she would have stayed, she would have left him, she would have done anything if it meant this was not real. But it was.

Boone was gone, and she had to remember that.

It took longer than she would ever admit to half-drag, half-carry the antler to the Bluebird Thicket, where her whelping den sat empty and her son was buried beside. The antler she'd decorated so lovingly, the one that had brought her husband to tears. Across her back she carried a pelt he'd slept on. By the time she reached her destination, Reverie was breathless and in tears. But she had to do this.

Her daughters slept at @Everett's side; she thought of them now as she laid the pelt just past the den's entrance. She set the antler atop it gently, but even so, a few of the dry flowers crumbled and fell into the fur below.

It took an hour to fill the den's mouth with dirt. It was all she could manage. Somewhere in the process she had started to bleed, little droplets of red here and there in the dirt, but she paid it no mind. When she'd finished her work, she stepped back and fell shakily into a sit. Her husband; her son. There was no body to bury, but she hoped that they would be together now, if Boone was truly dead.

It's been five days.

It burst from her abruptly, her voice tremulous, and then she found that she couldn't stop.

I keep - I keep wondering what you would say. What you would want me to do. And the truth is, I - I don't know, This time she didn't bother to wipe her tears. She was alone. You always knew what to do. What to say. And I never did.

You deserved better. You deserved more than - than this, A shallow grave with only a few keepsakes; daughters who would never know him. I just wanted you to be happy. You were so sad, and so scared of being alone - and maybe no one else ever saw it, but I did. You deserved more than that.

Reverie crept closer to the little mound of dirt covering what had once been her den, closer until she was atop it, all but clutching it to her chest. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against the damp earth.

I hope you're not alone, She was dissolving into tears now, losing herself to her grief. I hope you know that I love you.

It was another hour before she returned to her den, exhausted, to feed her daughters. She spoke nothing of where she had been or what she had done.