I recognize the fear but I do not acknowledge it; I do not allow it to be mirrored back nor even nodded towards. Instead, I watch her with a forced kind of softness. Such a thing does not come naturally to me, a tenderness I seldom feel towards any other and yet, she is my daughter, the last piece of Achlys in this world that breathes with the same wild femininity of her mother.
I avoid watching the depths of her emotion though. I cannot help it. To be watched with such sadness only seeks to my blood boil and my skin itch; instead, I focus on the tears that bloom from her eyes. One, two, three, four. I count them as they drop down and away as she blinks. Each one seeks to make my jaw tighten. The only thing that seeks to break the tension, to force my muscles to relieve their coiled nature, is her voice uttering such a word. It is a name I am not given often, not inclined to accept as my own and yet, when she speaks it, my eyes are drawn to meet hers once again, my ears forward and desperate to hear more. I can only breathe her name again in response, a name blown away by the winter breeze as I take another cautious step towards her.
I know I ought to call a healer, ought to call for aid and yet, I do not. My voice remains as silent as ever, refusing to beckon any other to see her in such a state. She is weak right now, a frail thing and it is only when I see the strength begin to return to her that I am confident enough to move to her side, shielding her from what little wind there is. It is the least I can do for now, to take away the discomfort of nature from her. What other discomfort could I remove? I cannot change the past, cannot return her to a prior state. That is my weakness. That is where my control cannot extend, where I cannot change the world to suit my own vision. The thought causes me to twitch, to lash out momentarily in uncertainty, only drawn back to this world by her voice once more.
Again, I do not speak. She gives me what I want; his face, his eyes, and I cannot help but press my muzzle towards her, a comforting act but one that disguises my true intent. Through her blood and smell, I seek out his. I find it there wrapped in sin and hideousness, a wretched thing that makes my throat prickle and burn with its foul taste. It is an impure thing, a disgusting abomination that clings to her and now, my mind. I motion for her to move towards me, to take comfort in my warmth if she so desires but even this is deceit: I seek to wipe his scent from her, to cloak her in her family once again. Piece by piece, he will be removed.