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wc 575
If only Orin knew exactly what her friend was thinking she would have been able to tell him that he was wrong. That fretting over a woman, over a broken heart, was not frivolous. In fact, it was a dire thing, a serious thing, and that he should be able to be open with his grief, not feel guilty over it. But he gave her little to go on, and she could not read his thoughts as much as she wished she could.
She finally got a tidbit of information from the man though it was hardly anything to go on. Orin almost felt guilty when she visibly relaxed at the thought that this was not because of a pack member getting hurt. So then, it was something more. Perhaps something even more complicated than all that. He said something. It was vague and cryptic, and any less dreamy of a wolf probably would not have picked up on it or would have pressed for further meaning. But Orin figured it out. She had read about this many times. It was pretty much the centermost plot in just about every book: love.
It was evident by the slump in the man's shoulders, the emptiness of his eyes, and the way he turned away from her, casting his gaze off as he delved into poisonous thought. His heart had been broken. That is why he said it was hard for him. Orin sat silent for a minute and in that beat Shawchert's blue gaze returned to her. She regarded her friend with sympathy and concern, but it was not the ugly sympathy that many pass – there was love in her sympathy, not pity. Orin herself had never known a broken heart. Not like this, anyway, but she had known pain that surpassed what was physical. The best she could do for her Alpha now was be there for him.
Without looking away, her fingers fell to her satchel and she quickly undid the buckle. Her hand felt around in the pack for a moment before proffering the apple she had stored. She held it up to him. It was a wonder where she even got it. It was bright red and without a single bruise or soft spot. She smiled softly, knowing it would do little to cheer him up, but she thought she should try anyway.
“Here, I brought you this,” she said gently. “I saved it. It is from the tree.” She put emphasis on the word 'tree' as though it was a name in itself. Shawchert would understand. “I thought maybe we could plant its seeds in the spring.”
Her smile was resilient and held out despite the urge to drop it. Sometimes knowing that you had a faithful friend was just enough to get you through a time like this.
She met his gaze and leaned in to him, nudging his muzzle with her own. This time it was not a kiss but a gesture wolfish affection. She let the silence hang for a moment, and then gently reassured him, “Someone broke your heart. You can talk about it, if you want. I won't tell anyone. I won't write it in my journal or anything.”
The other hand that did not hold the present reached out and fell lightly on Shawchert's. Even in Optime form Shawchert's hands looked like massive paws in comparison to her petite fingers.