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Another night.

Another escape into the cold night.

Another single sad, quiet call that echoed off into the woods until it puttered into nothing.

It would be another disappointing night, Wisp thought, wearing her track into the snow yet again. The blizzard raged on around her, and frankly, she wasn't sure it was night anymore other than trusting her own internal clock. Did it matter? Her world felt as gloomy as Mythris felt these days, the light of her life snatched away.
No, pushed. She'd done this, she reminded herself. She'd been stupid. She fought those depressing thoughts, the grief threatening to swallow her whole; if she let them win, then she really was a liar. If she didn't continue to believe he would be back, she'd lied to the kids, she'd lied to him, to herself, to Taloka -- dread clogged her throat, and Wisp heaved desperately for air between gentle sniffles of long-dry sobs, face contorting into panic as she considered the implications of being wrong.

What was she supposed to tell the kids?

Fae weren't supposed to be loyal to mortals. Wisp battled with that most viciously when the dreams of disaster loomed above her, but now that Sarge wasn't here… she found she cared little about, well, much else past her kids. She'd give up her job just to have him back, pay whatever cost short of, again, the children.
Not even the Queen of the fair folk was so cruel to dangle such a non-choice before her, surely?

Wisp had tried to be polite in limiting herself to one howl a night, but it didn't occur to her that snow-muted sobs still echoed back to the cabin she never left her sight of.
She expected even less for Lyra of all people to come lingering in her wake. The sea wench continued to surprise her; never had she rolled out any semblance of welcome and yet they lived in relative civility, litters mingling, growing to be what Wisp hoped was friends. She'd thought the woman would capitalize on Mals general bedriddenness and seize further control of the situation once the dust had cleared, expected perhaps the whispers or outright jabs at the troublesome fae…
But the Howff just continued on, quiet if not peaceful. A little tense and awkward, perhaps, but it wasn't as if she'd guarded her husband day and night worrying someone would finish the job. Not even Mals intent seemed ill or resentful.

And here was the captain of the ship, calling after her like everything was normal: ‘Ye keep cryin' out 'ere an yer snot's like t'freeze all te way int'yer brain.’ Wisp halted jerkily, head swinging to the side to peer miserably back. Some part of the gentle bullying of Lyra's normal sassiness eased her heart enough to quip the smallest, briefest of smiles in return.
It didn't last.
Sorry tae wake ya, she muttered, swallowing past a lump in her tear-thick throat, Hope ah dinnae stir th' wee ones.

The second smile lasted a little longer. Yeah, the little bastards did have a knack for rousing at all the wrong sounds, didn't they? Could sleep through an earthquake in a thunderstorm but wake at the smell of fresh prey coming into the howff a floor down. The more inconvenient, the better.

But Lyra wasn't here to mince words about the whelps, and she wasn't going to beat around the bush.

It wasn't what she expected, not of Lyra. At first, the mention of him getting lost just felt cruel, but the calico wench didn't jump at the idea of him being dead as Wisp expected she might. Maybe she was just good at lying; after all, it came with the job, didn't it? But it wasn't really a lie that surprised Wisp, it was the idea that the captain was.....
Comforting her?

The fae stared at Lyra, more confused than anything else as she went on. Best he stayed somewhere safe till the storm passes, and she assumed that's what he'd be doing. She did not hint at the idea that Wisp should be doing the same thing: shutting up and sitting down to wait. Trusting her husband.

Wisp wanted to argue, she did, but she saw the sense in the pirates words.

She was still quite a bit shocked the pirate cared. Because that's what this had to be, right? Wisp didn't think pity was in Lyra's hand of cards, but maybe --just maybe-- she was starting to get through to the rough bastards of the Howff. That felt less likely than a lie.

Wisp shifted on her paws, frowning deeper. Stubbornness reared its head, but she couldn't even say why she was bothering to wait out here. It wasn't like she was going anywhere. It wasn't like she was helping, at all. If he was close enough to hear her calling, he was already more than close enough to know where the cabin was. Maybe she just wanted to be a dutiful wife, waiting on the front porch for her husband every night be it rain, snow, or by the shine of the moon.

Ah dinnae what tae do in th' meantime, she eventually murmured, ears laying back, Ah cannae sleep. Cannae sit still. Ah keep tellin' th' kids he'll be back, but wha'if ah fucked everythin' up? Wha'if he's nae comin' back, an it's mah fault?

Wisp wasn't even sure they did believe her. Wendi in particular stared at her in a way that sometimes went right through her, and sometimes felt accusatory, but if he was offended by her lack of openness or knew something was amiss he didn't say as much. Was that loyalty, or was that a lack of caring? He liked his Pa' well enough, better than her, but he was not one of the squalling babes unsure of what was happening, either.
Maybe Wendi knew he'd be back, too?

Still, Lyra was right. Wisp knew she was, and she hated it, but she was. Why did the right bitch have to be right so much of the time? All too right, or blatantly wrong. Wisp watch Lyra step, and after a moment, sighed and stepped after her. It couldn't be helped, and she couldn't argue, and it... didn't matter anyway. Pacing in view of the Howff wasn't really helping. Searching with blind eyes, trying to... what? Did she think her scent would waft further out if she was outside the cabin? Did she just want to be the first to see him when he returned?

A strong drink might not have been amiss, at this moment. She was normally a sipper of wine, and she never got so inebriated that she lost track of even moments, but nights like these ones she understood why many drowned themselves in alcohol.

Will-o thought that might've been the end of it. Lyra fetched her and shut her up, and now she was going to be delivered back to the cabin -perhaps her room with the babes- to shut up and wait around.

Lyra was more clever than that.

Fish to de-scale, skins to clean, holes to patch, mouths to feed. There were things to do, helpful things, and Wisp's ears perked at the thought of warping her mania into something more useful, use the energy. She didn't particularly want to hunt because that meant leaving the babes unattended now, but, well...
were they ever actually unattended? There was so much happening in the Howff, even if nobody had eyes on them directly, its not like they were going to jaunt out the front door into the ice without an adult noticing and hauling them back inside -- or, at least, calling for her. Something. Not even this crew would let kids wander off to their death, she thought. She hoped.

Ah can start wit some fish, she murmured, though her nose wrinkled at the way she knew her paws would burn and itch and ache afterwards, Then get a bit o' patchin' done. The clay would soothe the hives from the salty fish. Didn't sound half a bad job, anyway -- her small paws would probably be better for shoving clay where it needed to be.

Lyra's words about teaching the kids how being mortal works turned over in her head. She was glad, truly, and nodded. This was better than them watching him waste away, than having to bury their father. Yet still, his fate was uncertain.

Or he's showin' 'em what its like bein' immortal, life after life, no matter how the last ended, pushing on through traumas that no mortal ever had to endure more than once. Wisp's words were a bitter grumble: she clearly didn't appreciate the thought. Magic hides in people who dinnae know it. Best be prepared. It was a cruel lesson, one she was trying to shield the children from as much as she could. She didn't realize it would hurt so badly, herself, but she thought if she were more sure he'd return, it wouldn't be so bad.
But he was a mortal touched by fae, not fae-born. The rules didn't apply for him, necessarily.
She loathed for the fact that he had to suffer alone, but what was she supposed to do? Tell their young children she killed Daddy but he should be back soon, she thought? No, that wasn't a lesson she would teach anyone least of all the whelps.

And there Lyra stood, all a-sparkle in the blood herself, but Wisp still didn't know if it was kinder to tell her or not.