Time was a strange concept, the way it ebbed and flowed, constantly moving around him. Sarge didn’t like it. Life felt too fleeting, too brief.

The little ones were growing. Eyes open. Ears pricked. Hungry as could be. Sometimes, when they were snuggled close, a small smile would tug at his lips and he would feel a rare sense of peace.

Peace that was quickly shattered by the presence of his wife.

She was handling motherhood well, more than well. It looked incredible on her. Wisp moved with a quiet confidence, a natural grace that made his chest ache. She was still healing from his attack, something that forced his eyes away from her every time she crossed his vision. He would never live it down.

So weak.
So fickle.
So unreliable.

That was all he seemed to be anymore.

When she was present, he gave her space. He didn’t press close. Didn’t linger. He didn’t want to prove himself a threat to her or their children. Sleep remained elusive. He couldn’t remember the last night he hadn’t jolted awake from a nightmare, heart racing, breath ragged. It was driving him mad.

Why now?
Why these memories?

When he’d first arrived in Mythris, he’d been fine. Numb. Functional.

Part of him resented Wisp for that.

She had softened him. Melted away the numbness he’d hidden behind, and now he was left raw, forced to feel everything he’d buried. Most nights found him stretched out in front of the door, body tense, bristling at every sound. Other times, he fled the safety of the inn altogether, throwing himself into the cold.

He told himself he was stretching his muscles. Hunting for his partner. Keeping watch.

He wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself.

He was running.

Not from her. Not from them. From himself.

Another morning. Another early rise. Another quiet disappearance before Wisp could notice.

He managed to snag a hare this time, carrying it carefully as he made his way back to the cabin. Standing outside their room, he hesitated. His gaze dropped to the floor as he lifted a paw and knocked softly before slipping inside and shutting the door behind him.

He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t.

Still, he moved to her side and placed the hare within her reach before leaning down to check on their little ones. A quiet murmur slipped from him.

Still doing well?

A rhetorical question. He already knew the answer. They were safe, warm, and thriving beneath their mother’s capable paws.

Satisfied, he backed away, turning toward the door. Settling himself down beside it, he curled protectively into place, eyes half-lidded, body ever alert.

Guarding.
Watching.
Staying.

Selkie learned quickly, though memory stayed elusive. Opening eyes, hearing noises- not so disorienting, though the sounds of the inn were unfamiliar. Low voices, talking, too many to identify. The click of nails on wood and the squeaking and writhing of other bodies pressed in a warm bundle around him. Wind whistling outside as it sought holes in the walls. He fell asleep to the smell of salt and the Voice that called itself màthair, and dreamt of the sea.

Today was brighter than usual. Woken by the Voice, Selkie turned his face from it with a wordless noise of distaste and tucked his face between tiny dark paws, curling close to familiar fur and relaxing to the familiar cadence, though the words made little sense. He liked this brother, a warm source of heat that didn't squirm and protest as much as the others, colored an ocean-deep blue that reminded him of something he did not remember.

He sniffed, and kneaded at the nest of blankets beneath them (the offending one seemed to have been buried beneath the rest, and anyway he had chewed enough holes to be satisfied in his revenge).

The new arrival was known by smell, but Selkie was as intrigued by the blood-scent clinging to fur as he was every time it arrived, and cracked blurry eyes open to stare, making a little puppy-whine of demand as he leaned in its direction but reluctant to leave the warmth he was surrounded by.

Wisp’s voice tore at his heart. The pain in it, the wavering, killed him. But he didn’t trust himself. Even though he wanted to be close, to be a comfort to them, he simply couldn’t make himself do it.

Monster.

The word echoed in his head.

Please don’t cry, Wisp. A soft murmur as he shifted, forcing himself to look at her. She was so beautiful. His wife. The better part of his soul. Seeing the healing scars across her body, the ones he had left, only made his chest ache worse.

Monster.

His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as he let out a slow breath. No… I suppose we can’t.

Did he want to talk about this? Get into the nitty gritty of it all? No. Absolutely fucking not. But she wasn’t a stranger. She was his partner. The mother of his children. That alone granted her more respect, more access, whether he liked it or not.

I… I’m sorry, Wisp. I’m trying. I really am. There was a softness to his tone, rare for a soldier so perpetually gruff. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I-I want to be close. To be the husband and father you all deserve. But the risk is too great. His voice dipped lower. I won’t survive maiming you again. And I would expect nothing less than to be slain on the spot if I ever bared my teeth to our little ones.

He trailed off, golden eyes flicking toward the window, where ice gripped the panes like a silent creature, slowly crawling its way into the warmth of his soul.

"Ye aren't ah monster tae be feared in th'dark, Sarge."

Something about the words echoed differently in his mind. Comforting? A lie? Doubt? He didn’t know, so he let it be.

Sarge forced himself to hold her gaze, to not turn away when she was clearly hurting. The things he had done to survive certainly haunted him. It didn’t matter that the orders had come from others, he was still the one who spilt the blood, who caused suffering and trauma. His deaths were due penance, not some honorable sacrifice.

Again, he let the thoughts pass. If he voiced them, she would argue. She would grow frustrated. They would go in circles. He didn’t want that.

Wisp offered to listen, to guide, as she always did. Did he want her to take that role with him? He had never thought of her as a guide of souls. She had always just been Wisp.

With a deep breath, he let out a quiet sigh. Lowering his head to rest on his paws, he stared at her in silence for several long moments.

Could he do this? Be vulnerable like this? In front of their children, no less.

I watched my father kill my mother, he said at last. Couldn’t have been more than a few months old. He left me to dispose of her body. I still remember the bloodlust in his eyes, the way he laughed when her body went limp. I remember the hours it took me to dig her grave beneath the willow tree. The way I struggled to move her to her final resting place. Watching her disappear beneath the dirt.

He grimaced, turning his gaze away as the memories surged forward.

He tortured me. Ripped out my nails. Bit me until I bled. Beat me black and blue. Denied me food. Trapped me in small spaces. His jaw tightened. I was just a plaything to him. Something else to break. A mistake he took pleasure in destroying.

Golden eyes grew distant, the room blurring around him.

I killed him, Sarge continued quietly. For revenge. And I enjoyed it. The feeling of breaking his bones, crushing his windpipe. The satisfaction of watching the blood pool around him. His lip curled faintly. He laughed even in death, knowing he’d already destroyed me. That he’d won.

His father’s burning gaze flashed through his mind, and Sarge shifted uneasily.

I ran to the military after that. Figured a killer like me might as well be put to use. A hollow breath escaped him. I’ve never regretted anything more. If I thought my father had ruined me… it paled in comparison to what they did.

He paused, swallowing hard.

Rebuilt me into a.. He stopped short, unwilling to say the word aloud, unwilling to wound her further. An obedient, mindless soldier.

Used to protests being soothed by tongue or paw ushering him to milk, Selkie quickly grew indignant as voices murmured back and forth overhead without giving him what he wanted.

Why was he being ignored?

With effort, Selkie squirmed his paws underneath him and got to all fours. He was still learning shapes and colors, and everything had a fuzziness to it, but he made a wobbly beeline for the newcomer's legs. Selkie knew siblings, and mathair, and knew this one because he was always coming and going and because mathair was always happy to see him, and her tail and voice kept waking Selkie up.

He decided he would be indignant about this.

Tiny paws took him in short strides over the vast tangled sea of bedding, and he shivered, but would not be outdone. Target locked in his sights, Selkie tripped over an uneven floorboard, stumbled the last couple of steps, and started chewing at the offender's ankles with a triumphant puppy-growl.