The words are difficult to make out, their meaning cloaked behind a ceaseless sadness that she seems unable to contain. Perhaps that is her curse in this world, to feel these emotions so deeply and purely where others cannot. Perhaps that is my own curse, to feel so little more than anger and speculation when a very life I have created and taken responsibility for is taken from beneath me. Yet, the words are the most important thing: his name, his pack. I hear them, an ear flickering back as my mind grabs at them. Underidge. I think of his name and face immediately, my lip twitching; even Ava, my own mother. Myself perhaps. I think of all the names I can that would find a quiet pleasure in his erasure.

And then she collapses. I feel myself flinch forward and yet I am not swift enough to catch her with my neck before she crumples; instead, I am left with my own head low, my eyes meeting at hers as she begins to sob. Her words flow like her tears and I do little in those moments but listen. I nod slowly, understanding why she might not...understand these things herself. Though I feel the burden of bloodlines, I must consider things in another light. Moteuh was too young to cause grave offense and so, I must...attempt to find reasoning elsewhere.

I can think little more than of one thing: "He seeks our retribution." It is that simple and my words are driven with the coldness of rationality. He wants us to retaliate perhaps, to seek him out and act in rage. The other child might have seen it and yet...things are not always so clear. Things are not always as they appear to be. Without a body, there is no truth.

"I was not there to protect Moteuh but I will be there to protect you," I lift my head up then, watching out behind her carefully before looking down at her once more. I lean forward, shuffling a step or two closer with an offer of my shoulder - it is the same I had done for my own daughter, Ehiyeh, in her time of need. "It is your decision, Zeltzin, as to what we do now." My eyes meet hers again, hot with anger but I do my best to remain neutral in the face of her sadness. Besides, it is a white lie, a delicate thing. She may decide what my body does, perhaps, but not what my mind and tongue will command be done.