12. Stillborn

It was hardly more than a whisper, but the word carried through the camp like wildfire. It was spoken in hushed tones, inspiring fear, invoking pity.

Stillborn.

It fell on every ear with enough weight to crush the heart. Dead silence fell, made itself obvious. Today should have been a day of joy, of singing, of sound.

Stillborn.

“Let me see her.”

The words echoed through the very forest. Every creature seemed to be listening.

“Bee, it won’t change anything. She’s—”

“Let me see her.”

The source of the silence passed into her mother’s arms.

Stillborn.

“It’s my fault.” A sob broke Smellerbee’s voice. “How could I—? Why didn’t I—?”

“Smellerbee.” A quite voice that could have belonged to the wind, rarely heard even around his beloved. “These things happen. It is no reflection on you.”

“Then why does it feel like it is, Longshot?” Smellerbee clutched the tiny corpse to her chest. “Why couldn’t I save her?”

“We can’t save those who we don’t know need saving,” Skillet said gently. “There was nothing any of us could have done.”

“There’s always something.” Smellerbee lifted one small hand to her cheek. “Something that could have been done better.” She kissed the forehead that would have had her wild locks.

“Bee,” Skillet slid her hands under Smellerbee’s arms, “it’s time to let go.”

Smellerbee clutched at the infant body, terrified and ferociously defensive. Longshot laid a hand on her shoulder, and her face crumpled. Her grip loosened, and she let Skillet take her daughter away. Her arms felt empty.

Longshot touched her cheek tenderly. Smellerbee jerked away, curling up into herself at the edge of the bed. Longshot put his arm around her, and she finally began to cry. Once they started, they wouldn’t stop, and she turned in his arms to bury her face in his chest.

“Bee?” Jet poked his head in the room. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine,” she sniffed, wiping her face hurriedly to hide the marks of her weakness. Jet wasn’t fooled.

“No, you’re not,” he frowned. “It’s okay to cry. You don’t have to pretend for me.”

Smellerbee took several deep breaths. “No. I’m done. She wouldn’t…wouldn’t want me to cry over her forever.”

Jet offered a small smile, sitting next to her and Longshot on the bed.

“The Spirit World needed her more, I guess.” He grasped her shoulder. “You’re going to be fine. Both of you.”

Longshot kissed his wife’s temple, leaning his forehead against hers. Smellerbee reached up and wound her fingers in his hair.

“Yes,” she finally said, “we’ll be okay.” They breathed for a few moments, and Smellerbee sighed.

“Come on.” She got to her feet, fighting off the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her. “There’s a grave to be filled today."