There is no small bit of sadness between the sisters. No small bit of loneliness despite their obvious company. They had lost what they had grown into and known for all their time alive. Lost family and been reduced to a pair. It had, she supposed, been inevitable to lose them - even if losing her sisters to the vast world had not been counted on. Her mother and father were not young, though they had tried their hardest to be spry.

It leaves her feeling desperate, the nuzzles atop her head and confessions of affection from her sister. She wants so badly to be better, stronger, but she knows the weakness of her age in emotion and it only compounds her problems. Coming to Glorall was the only true hope that she and Samia had now. Hope to recuperate, hope to replant seeds of happiness.

The chill in the air made the clearing only more desolate than Feather had imagined, than she dared think about, and she looks to Samia with no small amount of pain and hope for relief. It is not fair, she will tell herself later, but it is not something she can help. She cannot help that Feather feels alone, not really. She can try to bandage the wound, but the wound is still very much there and alive in her thoughts. "Feather, are you alright? Hungry, tired?" Feather is asked, but she stumbled to speak at first, mouth dry and tongue sticking to it’s roof. "Sleepy." She manages, not willing to eat despite the growl that does come moments after the question is asked. How could she eat? Father was gone. There would not be any meat caches now.

No more meat caches, no more warm den, no more giggling sisters, no more vacations to Uncle Seamus. "I don’t want to have such an empty den..." she muses aloud, "but I don’t want to move either..." she finishes - as though Samia would understand this push and pull feeling. "I never thought I would wish the den was smaller..." She offers with a weak smile.