the way the light caught on her fur, the curve of her belly rising with life— it brought a lump to his throat. from fear. from pain. from reverence. there was something sacred in her. something he didn’t know how to put words to, but felt in every beat of his heart.
and he still felt unworthy. unworthy of a second chance.
but she didn’t let him sink. didn’t let him drown in it. tragedy, she’d called it. he swallowed. her face stained red with the fawn meat.
still should’ve been me,he murmured against her fur.
not them.
her voice pulled him back from that ledge. so soft, so steady. like she was the shore and he was always the tide. when she moved to eat, he sat beside her—not to rush her, not to pressure, but to be there. his paw brushed gently over hers.
i said i ain’t goin’ anywhere,he said, briefly glancing away towards the treeline. he had ignored her question of his own burdens, his own guilt. christ— he was a man, reduced to the same water between her paws.
not while you and them are breathin’.
but it bothered her. he could see that much. and relented with a part of himself that he'd shred for her.
…you tell ‘em to kick me next time they get rowdy in there, yeah?a half-smile, crooked but no less real.
tell ‘em their pa can take it.