Life after Drifa's visit to Abaven had been hard, but life following Twig's miscarriage was.. well, even harder. It was hard to process what had happened on his own; their sorrowful burdens felt too heavy to share with anyone else, not to mention too intimate. The births Abaven had been gifted with only made his own experience feel stranger. Who was he to weigh down anyone else with what he'd gone through when they were busy tending to the new pups, and celebrating the pack's growth? It felt selfish, like it might somehow lessen their joy, and that was the last thing Corvus wanted to do.

He let out a sigh as he trailed along the edge of the plains, wishing the warmer weather would come sooner. It still felt like winter, though he swore it was due to end pretty soon. Then again his mind had been elsewhere often and maybe he'd lost track of time? Either way he longed for the season to change. Maybe spring would bring a welcome shift in his mindset. He wasn't sure, but he was feeling especially low lately and he wasn't sure anything would magically fix it. At least doing some routine patrolling helped keep his mind off things. He kept his head low as he went, sniffing idly at the ground, grateful that there was nothing of interest to note yet.

Things had been quiet since Drifa had come calling. Theo wasn't sure if she was grateful for the continuation of normalcy or if the prolonged stasis made her more anxious. Was there change on the winds? She'd spent so much time and energy worrying about what might happen that she'd had less attention for what was really going on at home. Poem's birth and the little puppies had taken up the bulk of her time lately, but she was slowly leaving "terrified that they will stop breathing in the middle of the night" territory. Hovering was bad for personal growth. Or, so she kept reminding herself. Poem and Sparhawk were their parents, anyway! She was free to be the "fun aunt!" It was a bit of a learning curve. The fun would come eventually. Probably. Theory followed along the well-worn patrol path that Corvus had taken. She'd picked up his scent a while ago and figured it would be good to catch up. No new developments had occurred with Incendium and Ignis, but she could tell that something had changed him. Was he dwelling on his old friend's change of heart more heavily than before? "Corvus," she called out as she caught up to him. Theory pulled up alongside his shoulder and joined his patrol. "Anything to report?" Theo added in jest. Nothing of note had happened for weeks now, except the relentless winter.

Though worries about Ignis and what harm he might try to enact upon Abaven definitely plagued his mind, he too had been preoccupied. Coping with the loss that he and Twig had shared had taken up a good bulk of his energy, both emotional and physical, and only now was he beginning to slowly return to normalcy - or some semblance of it, at least. His feelings weren't something he'd shared with anyone else though. With all the good news that had been flourishing within Abaven he didn't have it in him to share their loss with anyone else; it didn't feel fair. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to feel badly about what they'd experienced. He felt like Twig and himself had grieved enough for the whole pack, no one else needed to shoulder their pain.

The sound of Theory's voice drifting over the plains jerked him abruptly out of his thoughts, so abruptly that for a moment he forget what he'd been doing at all. Ah, yes. Patrolling. He swung around to greet her slowly, offering a faint smile. "Theory," he greeted her softly, slowing for a moment before redirecting himself to continue his path, just a bit more slowly than before. "No, not really. Same old... stuff." Theory had a way of pulling out all the feelings he tried keeping locked deep inside without even trying, and already he felt a sharp wave of grief wash over him. His voice betrayed that something was wrong, even if he couldn't quite bring himself to say it. He should've known he wouldn't be able to hide it from her, not forever - but how busy she'd been had made it easier to avoid talking to her directly until now.

Same old... stuff. They were close in age, but once upon a time he had been her mentor. The strange chain of command still had a hold on her even now when she was undoubtedly his "superior." Above all else, Corvus was her friend. She could tell when he was in pain and cursed herself for not seeing it sooner. Now that they were in close quarters it was obvious as a toothache - impossible to ignore, painful to the touch. The alpha smiled meekly, trying to figure out how to coax what was bothering out from him without making it so obvious. "Same old stuff, huh? No new developments at the borders?" Ugh. This was terrible. "Like, ah - your borders? How's your den faring with this never-ending frost?" Great, wonderful segue! She thought bitterly. Some of the pack had reported difficulties with frozen ground and cave ins where the snow's weight was at its heaviest. Maybe she could steer the conversation closer to home, to Twig, and anything else that might be bothering him.

The smile lingered for a moment but it wouldn't last forever. Corvus wasn't particularly good at expressing his emotions verbally, but they tended to be written plainly all over his features - at least the essence of them. He was no good at concealing when he was feeling unwell about anything. Around Theory it felt particularly difficult - no, impossible. His expression shifted and gave way to something less bright, though in the company of his closest kin he couldn't help but appear a bit more relaxed, despite all the worries that plagued him. "Not really," he answered, a bit too quickly. But the question about his den seemed to strike a nerve. He'd carefully helped dig it out and line it with furs for the comfort of himself and Twig, never knowing that children might be a possibility - and for a while after Twig had broken the news to him their den had felt eerily empty and cold. Frozen indeed, he thought somberly to himself. His thoughts were somewhat disjointed as he tried to collect them and form a coherent response to Theory's question. "It's.. fine," he started, his voice cracking as he felt the sting of tears suddenly rise to his eyes. Damnit. He wasn't the crying type, at least not in front of others, but somehow Theory relaxed him enough that his body couldn't fight the tears that suddenly appeared... and started to spill down his cheeks.

Oh. Her heart began to crack, a small fissure that spider-webbed outwards. Theory steeled herself and willed her emotions to settle. He needed her, as a friend - not a leader, and not a family member in tears. Part of her wanted to take on his pain somehow. It was always her first instinct. Fix, fix, fix. Push it down. Make the pain go away. In fact, she felt cruel digging at him like this. Trying to uncover his hurt. If he didn't offer anything else, she would pull back. He would come to her on his own time. She simply rushed forward, looping her head around his shoulders and offering him a stable place to rest his head on her back. [i]It's okay to fall apart. Just a little. She would give him a safe, comfortable place to crack into pieces if he needed it.

The harder Corvus tried to stifle his emotions, to push them deep down where no one could see them, the harder they pushed back, defiant. He felt the tears prick at his eyes and he closed them briefly, as if somehow that might solver everything. A brief moment of darkness, then he'd open his eyes and everything would be fine, Theory would be laughing at him for his awkwardness and they'd continue on and find somewhere to patrol together. But the opposite happened - she leaned forward to embrace him and he felt his chest inflate with pain he'd been trying to avoid. "I'm... I'm sorry," he breathed quietly as he leaned into her. Convicting himself he was allowed to share this with her was more difficult than he expected, but her comforting touch made the tears begin to really flow. He sniffled as he leaned into her, choking back a sudden sob that escaped his throat. "Things have been really hard with Twig but I didn't want to bother anyone. I know everyone has so much going on, with the new pups and all," he started, somewhat shakily. The words suddenly started flowing and he couldn't stop them even if he tried. Theory always had that kind of effect on him. "She was - she was pregnant. She didn't realize it until she lost them, but I can't help but think maybe we did something wrong, that we should've noticed sooner, that-" His words cut off sharply. Everything was always easier in hindsight but letting go of the guilt felt impossible when it had him in a vicelike grip.

It felt like the world was tipping out from underneath her - and if she felt like that, she couldn't imagine how Corvus was feeling. She squinted against her own tears as she absorbed his words. Poem's birth had been so blessedly easily - same with Samara's. She was grateful that tragedy hadn't struck there. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she felt sickened at her own selfishness. And Twig... oh, poor Twig. Just as she'd promised herself, Theo remained strong for him. She let him crumble upon her and she braced for it. Although she couldn't see him cry, she could feel him grimace against her ruff. Tears were coming, just over her shoulder. She straightened her back, bolstering him up. "Corvus, you are never a bother." Her own voice cracked, even as she willed it not to. "I can't even imagine what you're going through. It's impossible to comprehend." Something intangible cut short before it could even open its eyes, take its first breath. What lay before him was an entire path that had beautifully opened before him and then fell to pieces beneath his paws. Lost forever. "I am so, so sorry."

His grief suddenly overflowed like a dam that had broken; the tears began to fall and he didn't bother trying to stop them. Corvus had tried with Twig but he'd had to balance his own grief with wanting to feel strong for her, and in a way he felt like he hadn't been able to express his sadness to its full extent. But with Theory suddenly it escaped and he was powerless to stop it, even if part of him he shouldn't burden anyone else with what had happened to him, and to Twig. There was too much good that had happened in Abaven to be truly sad; didn't that somehow outweigh all the bad he'd suffered? Unfortunately he knew feelings weren't like that - sadness wasn't simply erased in the event of happiness. The two things could coexist, and Corvus had to learn to accept that, not push it down in hopes it might disappear entirely. "T-thank you," he stammered, giving a half-sob as he tried to catch his breath. He lifted a paw to wipe at his tears, feeling less embarrassed by them than he'd expected to. "It's just... strange," he sniffed hard. "I don't know if I want to be a father. I've never really thought about it, but knowing it had almost happened and then the chance was gone - it really hurt, you know?" It was a painful loss, even if what he'd almost had wasn't something he was sure he even wanted. How many children might he have had? What would he have named them? What kind of father would he be? He hoped he'd be like his own had been - honest and vulnerable, strong and gentle. In many ways now he saw his father in himself, and he hoped someday he might be half the man that he had been. He let out a steady, shaky breath. "Just... don't tell anyone. I just - I don't want anyone feeling sorry for us or anything.." Corvus knew he had wolves, like Theory, he could talk to if he needed - and letting others expend any kind of energy on pity or sympathy seemed pointless when there were so many other things to focus on.

Theory struggled to find equivalencies between their experiences. She wanted to be able to say of course, I know how you feel and your pain is my pain, let me carry it for you. But neither of those things were true. While the pack's safety weighed heavily upon her - and had since she was so very, very young - she had never been on the cusp of parenthood only to have it snatched cruelly away. There were no similarities. She had no advice to offer. This was much bigger than she had anticipated. Nonetheless, she tried to be there for him. She let him break apart on her shoulder and she fiercely met his touch with her own, as if to say yes, I am here. There was little else she could do. "I don't want to say... the wrong thing," she managed at last, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. His hurt was so impossible, so unreal to her. Theo sucked in a breath and steadied herself to be a better surface to cry on. Sturdier. More reliable. "Is there anything I can do for you? For Twig?" For a moment she debated offering to cut his patrols so he would have more time to spend with Twig, but she stopped short of it. How had this effected their relationship? Maybe they didn't need time together right now. How did you begin to heal from this?

Corvus wasn't naive; he knew that there would be few, if any, wolves in Abaven who could truly relate to what he and Twig had gone through. Their grief was something they've have to conquer on their own, though Corvus was aware of the incredible support system they had behind them if they needed it. He tried to steady his breathing and reel in his tears. He couldn't cry forever, and even if he could he was already feeling strangely exhausted from the sudden surge of emotion. "It's okay," he assured her with a small smile as he steadied himself and pulled away after another long moment of hesitation. "You don't have to say anything." There was nothing to say, not really... no amount of condolences made it feel any less painful, even if he appreciated them. More than anything he was just thankful Theory was here to let him cry and not smother him sympathy. "We'll be alright. It'll just take time." Time was the only thing that could help a lot of things, especially emotional pains like this; it might never fully go away but at least it would slowly become bearable, and not make him feel like he was suffocating. "And distractions. Give me lots to do - that will help," he added with a minuscule, but genuine smile. Distractions and keeping himself busy would make time go by faster, which he was certain would help occupy his mind and lessen the grief, slowly but surely.