|  | Silverkit |
Like a great pointed stone had been driven into the point between shoulders and neck, Silverkit had been stuck since the loss of Pineblossom’s litter. Tainted air clung to every corner of the den that had always been so comfortable to him. When he moved just right, he swore it kicked the stale scent of death from the moss. The image of three tiny, still bodies wouldn’t leave his mind.
As disturbed as it had left him, Silverkit wasn’t sure if it’d be worth calling himself upset. Not when Pineblossom and many of those that came to comfort her wept over the loss. It was frustrating, that he couldn’t grieve them properly. After growing so quickly attached to Pineblossom, it felt like she at least deserved a few tears from him. He’d spent an afternoon trying to force himself to cry, but he’d only gotten lightheaded and more upset than he’d been before when he couldn’t bring himself to.
He didn’t know what to do with himself. The buzzing in his head was painful, loud. His first thought was to mention it to Pineblossom; he didn’t know where he would take the conversation, but he rarely worried about that until he got that far. The idea was discarded quickly either way. It’d be unrecoverable, asking Pineblossom to talk him through his feelings regarding her stillborn kits.
The second thought was to ask Meadowlark. He knew there was little warmth at the end of that path, but Silverkit pursued it regardless. He hadn’t spoken to her much since everything. He tried to figure she was struggling in some way, too, and either way, he wanted to at least try: she had to have something to say, something that would make everything feel a little less frightening. So, he asked.
Plainly, she told him it’d been over a week; they were buried, and they were not his concern to begin with. Some expectant queen’s failed litter was for her family to grieve over, not their would-be denmate. And there were many, many more important things he could better spend his time brooding over.
She’d said it all kindly. Meadowlark said most things kindly. Even if she hadn’t, Silverkit couldn’t argue. He guessed she had a point; they weren’t his to be sad over. But… Pineblossom was nice to him. At least she could stand a conversation with him. He wanted to feel bad over her loss, but he wanted to do it right. Either way, it’d made him frown, the usual weariness that came from talking to her rising as he marched away. He hadn’t been expecting different.
That conversation had been earlier in the evening, just after sunset, not long after they’d woken up. The sky was starting to lighten now, proper blue washing through the black. When Silverkit stepped into the nursery, vision blurry with sleep, the force of the dread that hit him was enough to snap any tiredness out of him. It made his eyes widen, fur bristling until he’d swelled to twice his size. The feeling didn’t pass, as he’d hoped. The tight coil of nerves building in his stomach made him feel ill.
He’d forced his fur flat and sucked in a breath, even though the creeping fear was deepening. Picking his way past past the few other queens, Silverkit found his nest adjacent to Meadowlark’s, who was already curled in place with her tail curled around herself. He’d grown accustomed to this arrangement, but this morning, Silverkit was standing atop his bedding, kneading the ground absently and staring at the dozing queen. He couldn’t get himself to lay down. Something about sleeping alone made him truly think he would turn up the contents of his stomach.
So, he waited. He didn’t move from the spot he’d stopped in, save for the left-right whipping of his tail that persisted until Silverkit moved again. When the burnt red glow of a dawning sky filtered through the gaps in the ceiling, and he was sure Meadowlark was asleep enough not to nudge him away, Silverkit folded his legs beneath him and crept close, wriggling himself between her ribs and the feathering of her tail. It was warm and comfortable, folded against her like that. The dread wouldn’t detach from him entirely, but he did relax a little.
Blinking slowly, Silverkit realized sleep had caught up to him again, now that he’d relaxed even a bit. Leaning into the steady swell and dip of Meadowlark’s flank, he let himself be eased into rest.
