The storm that rolls slowly and steadily into the Bay over the course of a few days is both fitting and insultingly out of place. Rain and thunder aren’t uncommon on Tinuvel, but something about the particular way this sky hangs heavily pregnant over the narrow peaks of the pine trees reminds Fell of the storm he had once enjoyed with Pacific Rim. They discovered life growing within Rim shortly after that; perhaps that storm had brought Uprising to them.

And maybe this storm was sweeping her away again.

The thought of their daughter, incorporeal and untethered in those thalassic clouds, brings a wave of bittersweet grief to grip Fell’s windpipe and halt his breathing for a gut-wrenching moment. She isn’t the first child he’s lost, and she likely won’t be the last, but he’ll never get used to it. It is the nature of life for the young to be fragile, and Fell knows there are forces beyond his control and protection that can easily shatter those delicate lives. He knows this, but he will always blame himself.

Pacific Rim’s scream is carried to him on the charged breeze. Fell’s heart aches for her, and it wrenches anew with her cries. Her voice is so rarely heard that it commands his attention whenever it reaches his ears. He isn’t surprised to hear it now; it hasn’t been long enough for the numbness to begin spreading through her pain, like ice taking over a fast-moving river and rendering it still and silent. Fell himself waits desperately for that stage of grief, and he wants to tell Rim that relief will come eventually. Those seething rapids of grief will try to drown her, but if she holds on just a little longer, she can rest a bit, encased in the ice.

But he can’t say anything. What little speech he had managed to master has fled him. He can’t even whisper.

He forces himself to move as the sky breaks and curtains of rain finally come hissing down. He knows where she is, and the Bay stallion weaves through the pines until he can see the white-slashed blue coat through the trunks. By the time Fell reaches her, Rim has curled up on the ground next to Uprising’s tattered body. Fell boils within at the sight of her, but he feels even worse any time he looks away. The guilt gnaws at him, as though by turning from his dead child he is actively choosing to leave her behind, saying ‘I’ve had enough time with you and I don’t need anymore.’ It has interfered with his duties as a band stallion, and put the weight of protecting the herd onto his second stallions and his adult sons. The feeling of uselessness, ultimately, only makes things worse.

He tears his gaze from the lifeless filly and forces himself to examine Pacific Rim. He knows her pain is not physical, but physical is all he knows. Fell shuffles toward her, his head slung low so that his whiskered nose bumps against Rim’s spine when he reaches her. He flicks his upper lip back and forth against her roaned fur, pulling some amount of sensory distraction from the feeling of the winter-shaggy hairs distorting and parting beneath his touch. He moves down her body, running his lip along her spine like someone blind using their fingertips to see. If she lashes out at him, Fell doesn’t have the heart to move out of the way; he’ll stand there and take whatever she throws at him.

stallion | marwari mutt | black | torn left ear | bay