Perhaps it is neglectful of her to not be thinking of Alistair at the moment, to be so wallowed in guilt and grief that she cannot even seen straight, but that is the nature of pain. Pain does not wait until it is ideal timing. It does not hide behind a curtain until such a time as it can be felt. It latches on and it claws and screams and begs to reveal itself in any way possible. Natu has felt so much pain in her lifetime. Loss - such overbearing loss - that this is but one more speck on her lifespan. One more mark against her revitalized soul. Her children and Fenrir had become everything to her. That included Grayson yet somehow he thought himself apart and separate from that. And that was her failing.
So distraught is she that she forgets for a moment that Alistair sits there watching her splinter apart. She is his world, his caregiver and mother, and she should be strong for him. Yet how can she be strong when she has failed her other son? Is she failing Alistair now by this? Scarring the poor child before he can realize how deep love runs and how dry those furrow become in the wake of death. Burning, peeling, flaking and dissolving into nothing.
It is only the feeling of his small paws pressing against her nose that causes her sobs to abate for a moment, instead for her to suck in the air her body desires, and she blinks to clear her eyes so she can see his worried face peering into hers. Her poor boy, born without hearing, ever trying his hardest to understand the world. He cannot hear her cries through noise, only vibration, and maybe that is a good thing. Maybe he wouldn't be so scarred from it. She closes her eyes with a sigh as he licks the tear stained fur beneath them and her ears prick to catch his monotone words, words that try and capture the inflection of his worry.
He moves to wiggle against her neck and she curves it around to press her narrow maw into his side and breath deep the beloved scent of her son. It is comforting having him here so close to her; comforting in how he does not turn from her or become scared of her. Glimpses of memories peek into her head - of Sven accusing her, of Sven flinching from her, of Sven sitting in that agonizing silence of his own disappointment. Everything she had done to him... she had been so wrong.
Even as she thinks this with her tears staining the pelt of her deaf son she begins to find a resolve. She would find him, or his body, or whatever was left of him. She would not forget him like his own mother had done before her. No, she would walk to the ends of the earth to make amends with his spirit.
"I love you," she mouths as she pulls her muzzle back so that Alistair's white eyes can make sense of what she says before she licks him on his forehead, a sweet kiss followed by a sniffle. "I am sorry for scaring you, Alistair," she says, again making sure he can catch what she says with a baleful look and ears pointed backwards, still unable to find it within her to get up or fight the slow drain of liquid from her eyes. "I had a son before. Sven... but he... he.... is gone." Her face falls and it takes a few moments before she can compose herself. "I do not wish to ever lose you."