Tears are something I have little experience in. The way she presses against me though is just as abnormal for me yet I allow it because her scent fills my nose and her warmth permeates through my thick coat. There is comfort in touch, a comfort I had failed to recognize from my absence from it. I am reminded of my childhood where I lay sprawled often with my two brothers and vibrant sister, all of us piled in a heap pressed agianst the black form of Fenrir and the white one of Natu. The way they sheltered us and cared for us. I remdmber when Ankh would cry, often being melodramatic with some feigned push or bite we gave her, and was consoled by touch, so I mimic it as best I can with my chin just barely resting atop hers before I demand she rise.
Movement had a way of easing my tensions. I expect that such exertion, even as subconcious as walking to the creek, would help focus her a bit. Her mind is muddled with death and loss. Nothing would easily overcome that but I could make sure that she is taken care of. That her physical needs are met even if I feel I am sorely lacking in whatever mental ones she could use. Healing was never my forte but I consider for a moment fetching my younger sister, Samia, rememberig her explaining her love for herbs.
She answers my nervous question and I fight to release a gust of relief at it, instead offering a weary smile, athough I feel my tail twitch on the verge of happiness. She won't leave!