Aadhira was quiet. Much of his life had been spent in silence as he trailed Aarushi, allowing her to speak on their behalf if ever they crossed paths with another. It was easy for him to find quiet, but even easier to find patience and allow Priya the time she needed to gather herself. Even if hours passed and she shook her head only to tell him she couldn’t bring herself to speak it, Aadhira would not mind.

At her first word, Aadhira’s curved ears twitched and his warm amber eyes turned on her. He watched the muscles of her face work, the way words failed her, and the sinking feeling in his chest pulled down harder. He accepted the news was not to be happy, but he still was unprepared for the sorrow which afflicted him.

They had a daughter. Nasrin.

Had.

Aadhira knew something of a mother’s love. He had not been around foals, nor had he been around mares with children since he was a boy, but he remembered glimpses of a mother’s love in his first memories. He could not fathom the pain. He could not fathom what grief touched Priya, and without him to help share the burden. Should this not have been his responsibility too? Was he not responsible?

“I am sorry,” he said, and the emotion choked in his words made them strain to come loose. His ears turned out, splayed, and he dropped his head with grief clouding his eyes. He took a moment and drew a small breath. “When you are able, however long, would you show me where?” He looked to her carefully, afraid he’d overstepped; understanding if it was not a place she ever wanted to cross again. “I would pay my respects to her. To our Nasrin.”