[se] you can't prevent this

MABEL

She felt like a bird for a moment – tiny and insignificant, maybe a swallow, a songbird, hiding and ducking between nettled branches and thorns. Mabel never had the right thing to say in these moments – carved out of her own grief into something mad and vicious, once dead and brought back to life by the grasp of her claws and faith in her Goddess. She’d lost too many too young, until it almost became habitual to watch the rest of her family perish, no matter what she did. “I didn’t have to use your shift,” she offered at last, eyes going towards the bees instead of him. “So Aamu and I went to King’s End with them.” On eagle and dragon wings, until they’d had their fill and plotted out resurrection.

It was wonderful she wanted to offer, but couldn’t, didn’t know how.

At the very least Henry had a place to stay – and she nodded, hands still wringing together. Edgy, flighty, wanting for nothing more than to ghost and peel away again, and remaining tied and tethered to her rock while the babble of the brook hastened by, while the melody of insects droned along in simple hums.

Mabel thought of what it meant to rebuild. Of her old farmhouse, largely empty save for her and Aamu, put back together again by the kindness of strangers and the ambience of striving, trying, and rising back up again. More and more and more. “Let me know if you want help.” Not that she’d be much good – but it would be something.

Let's go to war to make peace
Let's be cold to create heat