[private] a place made for all of us. together.

[garbage]

Alive? he might be dead for aught I know, With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain, And eyes squeezed shut ‘neath rusty mane; He thinks her gone, and he does not blame her for such things. He is used to this pattern, of brief moments with others who leave and do not return. He is used to abandonment; it is familiar in a horrible way. It’s not that he doesn’t fight it, that he doesn’t ache and wonder and hope that this time it will be different, he will do or say or be different, and they will stay. But he does not expect it. She is too kind – he knows that about her. Her forgiveness was the loveliest thing about her (and oh, there are many lovely things). He hopes, selfish, that if anything makes their paths cross again, it will be that kindness. That he will look at her and she will not look away, because of it. But when he sees her, when she approaches him with no hesitation, touching him – he does not wonder or hope for anything outside of this moment. He touches her back, brushing his dark muzzle against her pale cheek. “Better now,” he says, and that is the truth. And then – and then she moves, and there is a girl at her side, and he breaths in, sharp. It’s not that he hadn’t wondered – nature finds its way – but he had not thought overmuch of it, certainly had not imagined how their features might look, comingled on girl, who is a lovely mix of them. She has his eyes. He is sorry, for this. “Oh,” he says, “Mazikeen.” He says the name carefully. It is strange and beautiful. He smiles at their child – at the both of them – though there is a part of him that is unsure, nervous. He has fathered a handful of children, has even borne one himself, but save for Sleaze, he had never been invited into their lives overmuch. Not that he blames their mothers for this choice. “How are you, Mazikeen?” he asks, looking at her with a mix of awe and fear. He glances back at Agetta, smiles, and murmurs to her. “Thank you.” Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe; I never saw a brute I hated so; He must be wicked to deserve such pain.