What remains

NATHANIEL It's probably best to forget it. She moves as instructed — a positive sign. Nathaniel shifts just slightly to give her space. Something softens in him as he sees the dog nestle into her, two trembling dirty bodies caught together, anchored only by each other. He ignores the tears. He would not want anyone to mention his own, if he were crying. He extends Maea the same courtesy. He wouldn't know what to say, anyway. He knows what to do with his hands, and that is good. He pulls bandages and a small flask of water fom his pack and begins to clean and dress the wound, each movement slow. Considered. "It doesn't look too deep," he says aloud, hoping this fact will comfort her. Once finished, Nathaniel stands back and away, giving the dog space to test its patched limb. His gaze sweeps the shed, sober. "We should burn them," he says quietly. The meat will go bad as the temperature rises. It will attract other things. And the living sheep — there will be living sheep — won't want to return with the dead still inside. "Do you... feel up to it?" Is that a cruel thing to ask? Does he have a choice? It's probably best to let go.