The Song Of The Wolf (Unedited)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

As soon as the funeral procession disappeared out of sight, all pretence of quiet coping was lost and Maebh sank to her knees, uncaring of the mud that stained her dress. Her eyeballs hung heavy in their sockets, her irises threaded scarlet as memory filled streams washed down her cheeks; forming puddles of remembrance that longed for things to have gone differently.

She gazed up at the watery skies, her tears mingling with the rain as she gathered the strength to face reality. But to look down would mean to envision Bear cold in a coffin, bereft of a heartbeat.

When at last, she cast her eyes to the freshly dug soil, palpable pain surged with every expelled breath, reaching higher and near the bounds of hyperventilation –never sufficiently subdued by her intakes of air.

The grief was a heavy burden to bear; she was at the mercy of its awful, wretched numbness. But the guilt, the guilt was exceedingly heftier; the sound of Logan's wails would forever haunt her like the terrible antonym of a lullaby.

At the sound of heavy footsteps, Maebh sniffed, "I want to be alone." But she couldn't muster the energy to object Fillin's presence further as he kneeled down beside her.

Neither of them said a word for a moment, the  grey clouds gradually ceasing their drizzles.

"I wish he had a tombstone." Maebh sighed.

"The unmarked grave will protect his memory from sullying and his family from receiving the backlash of his deeds. He has been granted a far more honourable resting place than an Atimos deserves."

Maebh's numbness momentarily dissipated and with speed like lightning, she spun to face him, "How dare you. Bear was my friend!"

"He tried to kill you." The prince reiterated, clenching his jaw.

"He was ill, it wasn't his fault! You will not vilify him and minimise his identity to something he wasn't!"

Fillin's eyes blazed. "Where is the justice in disallowing me from doing so when you are lading your own shoulders with the fault of his death."

Her voice trembled, "That's different! If I hadn't ignored the red flags and pulled the plug when my intuition told me to... If I had helped him in receiving the right help after his incarceration, maybe he-"

"Stop." Fillin said with such ferocity that it startled her into silence. "Hrólfr Lowell was unstable when you met him and the instability persevered until he died. By no means are you to blame for his inevitable demise."

Maebh hands trembled uncontrollably; she dug her nails into her palms to stop the onslaught, forcibly enough to draw blood.

"Come here." Fillin said, but the command was devoid of its usual, forceful tone.

She hesitated long enough for the prince to take the lead. He wrapped his arms around her and submerged her in that intoxicating scent. It was far from a perfunctory gesture mandated by social etiquette and had all the agitating qualities of oceanic waves, gently dousing the beach. Maebh tried to resist sinking into his embrace; she sincerely tried her hardest.

"Please don't let go." The words barely managed to escape as repressed sobs chocked her voice back.

Fillin said nothing and rested his chin on top of her head, clenching her a little tighter.

Having been gone for far longer than initially anticipated, Coinín, Maggie and Logan were preparing to head off by the time they returned to the castle. The little boy was fast asleep in the backseat of the car, exhausted from the afternoon's emotions.

"We'll see you soon, Irish girl." Coinín hugged Maebh, holding onto her like some sort of lifeline.

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry he didn't get a proper burial."