The den was quiet, most warriors still out from the meeting, a single soft sound reaching the molly's ear, breaking her heart right in two. Her gaze softened as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, settling on Hawkbite covering his face with a paw, to little avail of hiding what was happening. His voice sounded strained, bitter to a point Nightshiver physically took a flinched step back, but her brows knit together.

Tired he said. Tired. Every anxious part of the white queen told her to leave, to let him be in peace, and yet her paws wouldn't budge. She stood there, in the den's entrance, watching the poor tom. Her heart ached for him. Tired, he said. Why couldn't she leave? Maybe... Because she wasn't able to help him before, when he came to the nursery, already dishevelled looking. That had been the first sign. And maybe because this answer sounded so painfully familiar, she could tear up herself just thinking what he might be going through.

If this had anything to do Vixensnarl then she could only assume the stoic feline had been close to her, perhaps closer than anyone had thought and the idea that may be true killed her. Because Vixensnarl was not here now. And truth be told, maybe she could phantom what that was like. To lose your only family, your only friends, to watch them come and go again and again until one day you just have to accept that they're gone and will never come back without ever knowing what truly happened to them. It's a horrible feeling she wouldn't wish upon anyone, and yet here he was, assumingly feeling just that.

Without a second thought, Nightshiver slowly approached the grieving tom, quietly settling herself beside his nest. She hesitated - only for a moment as she bit her inner lip in thought - then carefully placed a gentle paw between his ears should he allow, softly caressing the paw over his head, creating a repeated pattern of gentle brushes. She was unsure why, where it came from, and even feared his reaction. But she didn't quite care. She could only hope it may soothe him as intended, that he wouldn't chase her away for it, speaking not a word in the silent den until her own choked-up throat finally let her speak.

"...When I.. feel... tired..., I look... at.. the moon. It... helps. When... there... is.. no moon.., you... can close... your eyes.... and still... see.. her. It is.. like... a light."
She briefly paused.
"Feeling... tired.. is... difficult. But. it... is.. alright. It... is... okay."
Another pause, her throat was running dry, uncertain. This time, the silence stretched on for a few heartbeats before she hesitantly spoke up again. Briefly, should he have let her continue gently running a paw through his fur, she would lift her paw in thought before resuming the continuous movement.
"You... can feel... tired. "

She wanted to say more - ask him were you close?, tell him I know it's hard,; tell him... He will make it through. But the words weren't spoken, remaining on the tip of her tongue as she silently glanced down at the group. She so wanted to help him, but how? Mind a jumbled mess she took in a quiet breath, refocusing on Hawkbite, his emotions. Offer support. Let him know there's nothing to be ashamed of - to hide. Let him cry, let him feel. And listen if he wished to speak. And yet the only certain was that she felt incapable of leaving him all alone in his grief.


[ @SuspiciousMindz ]