He shivered, the only indication of his discomfort. Wordlessly she pressed into him, bringing him closer, trying to envelope his whiteness with her browns. Slowly, the shivers ceased, but it had been replaced by a tension that she could not explain. She half wondered if he would have preferred her not to notice his cold, but pride was never an attribute she had attributed to her smallest. The others, his father, yes - but he was better than that, above that. Duck had taken after her, not after him. He did not have to feel wounded by accepting help, accepting that he needed. It was okay to need. Not everyone could be as independent and confident as Wolesh. It was a shame that the others had learnt his lesson rather than her own.
Though she missed their presence, missed knowing that they were eating and sleeping and not walking too hard, Bella felt strangely at ease with knowing that her Crow, Snake and Fox were out there by themselves. Their father's teachings had not all been to her distaste, and she could be grateful for that. She did not doubt that she would find them at the lake before her, likely boasting over how quick the trip was. Resourceful, capable, strong - these were some of her mate's words for Calor. These, at least, were the words she could agree with, the words which would carry her children to the lake safely.
Gentle, kind, thoughtful. These were the words Bella hoped to introduce to Calor, to turn the hard name into something strong but beautiful.
Giving her son a lick from the tip of his nose to his forehead, she knew that he now carried at least half of those, her half - and as he outgrew the weakness of his youth, he would come into the other words, too. His siblings would see that their teasing was misplaced, that their father had been wrong. Duckweed had been strong enough to survive those early weeks, and nothing else would be nearly so hard on either of them. She wondered if he really, truly realised just how scary that time had been, how heartbreaking it had been to love so viciously when her mate had cared so little. She had believed that she could love enough for the both of them. Watching his expressionless gaze as she continued to groom him, a quiet, suppressed part of her questioned that.
The winds blew hard that night, and occasionally she was woken by peals of thunder, though their hidden spot in the undergrowths of the forest sheltered the pair from almost everything but the sound. Each time she would check to see if Duck had been similarly roused, and each time he was quiet and still, and in the dark it was impossible to detect any deception. Each time she would kiss his cheek and lay her head over his shoulders before closing her eyes. Each time she felt his heart beating steadily in his chest. By the time the weather broke, and daylight pierced the canopy and over her eyelids, she once more woke with a start - and, on autopilot, found that she had no son to check on.
The pressed grass where he lay was cool when she placed her paw on it, her side cold from his absence. Heart skipping a beat, she jumped up, startled awake quicker than any storm could hope to cause. "Duck?" she called, not wanting to panic too soon, her rational side trying to argue that he was a year grown now, he was not a dying infant - but it was a losing battle. "Duckweed?!"
"Duckweed!"