Leah knew her husband like she knew her own mind. She knew him from the moment they had met. She knew she would want no one else, no matter how much someone else did in fact want her. Still want her.

Wanted her son.

Leah would never let him have her son.

Endless nights of staying up. Endless days of not getting enough sleep. Erland was exhausted as well. They were frightened. Every moment felt like the last. Rowan was more isolated than ever, curled up between them at every family gathering. Steven was gone . . . .

It was so bad Leah considered turning to old tribe companions. She’d risk going back to them just to ensure Rowan’s safety. It was so bad Erland was willing to phone his estranged sister. They had no way of know whether they would receive an answer. Whether it would be more dangerous to reach out to known members of their remaining family.

Whether it was worth the risk.

She stared up at the night sky many a night, never having felt so alone in her life. She knew there was no way. There was no way to be so disconnected from the world as she felt. She knew she had purpose, ties, life fed through her from the earth itself. She knew all creatures, human or beast, to be joined in spirit. She knew it was impossible to be alone.

And yet she felt it.

She hadn’t anticipated it to mean her time was drawing near until she felt it.

Leah recognized her husband’s whir of energy from miles away. She felt it as though it were a part of her. She felt Rowan’s energy. Their presence was her entire world. She felt them both so intrinsically that the second Erland’s energy became strained . . . .

She was running.

She was running faster than she had ever run in her whole life.

She had never run for her life in such a way . . . but his?

Everything inside of her came to a screeching halt when she felt that familiar, caring, loving whir go completely silent.

Her world was coming to an end.

--

“Stay here.” His father’s words were a growl not unlike his mother’s. Rowan hid in the small bedroom closet, buried under blankets and clothes in a large tub. Everything outside was muffled. He could barely hear anything but his own heartbeat and frantic breaths and attempts not to cry out.

The door closed and there was dead silence . . . .

Rowan heard himself so well that he wondered if it were truly possible for him to go unnoticed. He tried to not hear the pounding in his ears, tried to cover his mouth. He lay curled beneath mounds of his own clothes and books and notebooks. He lay covered in the dark and hidden from whatever it was his father was trying to protect him from.

The first sound he heard was not a crash. Nothing broke at first. Nothing even sounded suspicious.

But then . . . .

There was a quiet choking noise soon followed by a thud. Rowan didn’t think much of it until . . . .

Until . . . .

His mother’s howl turned into a screech. There were muffled voices. Muffled conversation. Muffled snaps of teeth and declarations. “MONSTER! MONSTER! MONSTER!” He had never heard his mother chant in such a frantic way. He had never heard scuffling and tearing to that degree. He had never heard the roars and bellows and heavy footsteps of whatever it was his mother was facing.

But he had heard that other voice before.

He had heard it in every nightmare.

“You will never hurt another again.”

An indescribable noise.

Then silence.

Utter silence . . . save for the quiet sobs that held Rowan rooted to the tub where he hid.

--

Finding him had been Durant’s task. The horse sized, porcupine-like creature began his exploration through the home as the Moderators stepped over the bodies. Ignoring the blood on his paws, he tracked red through the small space. The predominantly quiet peluda believed himself most likely to find the boy first.

But he didn’t.

He had heard the stifled sniffling and wailing from within the tiny bedroom, but his partner the Moderator approached before he could. The toad faced man pulled the door open gently as Durant squeezed through the frame of the door, quills rattling as he grunted. The Moderator ignored his preferred method of communication, instead focusing wholly on the small human found buried under loads of laundry.

His partner sighed so loud with relief that Durant actually felt they had accomplished their goal in hunting down the skinwalker who had defected from the Red Cord. Hunted her down and saved an innocent child from what might have been. “There there, my boy,” the Moderator whispered soothingly. “Thank God we found you.”

“Whathappened?” the small (impossibly small) child demanded. “Whatdidyoudotothem?” He was crying. The child was crying so much Durant felt a pang of pity.

“I warned you my boy, your mother was dangerous.”

“Whatdidyoudo?”

“She took your father’s life. She lost her mind, my boy. There was nothing I could do.”

“No . . .,” the small one wept so loudly it was enough to breach some of the coldest parts of Durant’s heart. Durant hardly had a heart to spare, but there was something genuinely painful in the boy’s realization.

It bled into both himself and the Moderator . . . .

Unnatural, Durant thought.

“I had to think of you first. Thank God I found you in time.”

Don Idlewood, Moderator of the Red Cord, drew Rowan into his arms. The child didn’t hug back, but instead went limp in those arms. He allowed himself to be pulled from the closet, face covered as they traversed around the bodies of his parents.

Rowan Alder Sverre sobbed at the loss of his parents, orphaned before he had even turned ten.