Mockingbird had been curious, that was what had led him to the group. Not that he had been searching for something he did not think he had. He had always believed there would be none to imprint on for him. He had been born wrong, so why would he get an imprint? Why would fate latch him onto any poor soul? That wouldn't be fair, not if Mockingbird was broken and wrong. He didn't even smell like a male; he smelled of nothing and no sex at all! What good was that to some female who could have someone whole and more male in all ways? So no, Mockingbird had never dreamed of this happening to him. He hadn't any idea how to deal with it, nor how to swallow down the rush of sorrow he was getting too loudly and too clearly from her.

Or how to deal with the idea that maybe for her, he could work. Maybe for her he wouldn't be quite as broken and wrong. Did fate work like that? Surely it wouldn't dump something like him on her if he had only so much to offer her, right? Mockingbird could only hope, and when she moved, he could only follow. There had been a flash of anger through her, and Mockingbird hesitated in his steps, but it was when she looked back to him, motioned to him that Mockingbird continued to follow her. She wanted him to come along, and so he did. He kept going, listening to the snippets of conversation around him. It was how he learned of her sorrow, because she was walking to the one speaking of a dead child.

It doesn't feel good to go through all of this right now, to have this hope and then have it crushed moments later. That was what happened here for Mockingbird, feeling it all slip away. He stands near her flank, looking at both and saying nothing for now. He's drowning in the feelings he's getting from her, trying to make sense of what she's going through, and his newfound sense of loss as well. She had asked his name, given hers, and her mate's. It was like all of the air had gone out of the area, the warmth sucked away and Mockingbird was cold again. He doesn't understand the emotions going on in his head after her words; it feels too jumbled. It's too much and he doesn't understand it. "Mockingbird. My name is Mockingbird, and my life is nothing but a mockary." He answers, then is backing away from them, moving towards the shadowy areas if he is not required to stick around.