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[/html]Though he was extremely apprehensive of the Luperci, and the horse he sat astride, Locke was unwavering in his plea. He continued to hold the bundle out, usually rough hands handling it with all the care of a doting mother. And his eyes watched Haven with an intensity that he hadn't actually felt in over twenty-four hours. If he was anywhere else but here, in both mind and body, he might have been relieved that emotion still existed in this clockwork of time and space that he was presently living in. But as of now, he only barely registered it, even though it was there, alive, on the sunken lines of his face. The mounted man looked first to the offering, then back to him, and Locke watched as recognition flashed across his young features. If only he could smile, or give thanks, but his mind refused any semblance of his personality right now. All of his energy, and all of his efforts, were geared towards this one soul purpose.
A strong hand was outstretched towards him, and Locke hesitated for only a moment, glancing apprehensively towards the restless stallion, before tucking the bundle securely against his chest, and offering his free hand. The younger man was strong, and with a deft tug, Locke was suddenly astride the beast. He took a moment to balance his weight, and double-check the bundle, only wrapping his arm around Haven's waist when he was secure. The horse was nervous, and presumably not used to the extra weight, which admittedly made him a bit nervous. However, the stallion quickly settled under the gentle guidance of his master, and they were off in a flash. Locke opened his mouth to speak, but no words formed; instead they were eaten by the howling wind. So, he experienced the ride in silence, glancing fearfully down at the linens often, as if they would just disappear into thin air.
A cottage came into view, and they approached rapidly, only to stop under the shelter of an overhang. It was there Haven dismounted. Locke followed suit, sliding down from the beast with a hollow sort of grace, and was steadied by the hand of his savior. A glance was offered, but his eyes didn't linger; instead they shifted first to the bundle, then to the house that Haven motioned to. He moved ahead of Haven, pushing the door open, and stepping inside. The first thing he noted was the silence in comparison to the fury brewing outside; it was peaceful, and soothing to his elevated state of emotion and awareness. He wanted to smile -- hell, he wanted to believe it would all be okay. Everything would magically go back to normal, or all of this would be a dream.
But his brief interlude was shattered when Haven followed him inside. Locke turned, ears falling back as his hands tightened around the aging linens. Somewhere he knew, he couldn't just stand here. They needed him. So, after a brief, but weighted glance, to Haven, Locke reached over and grasped the fraying edge of the blanket, carefully pulling it back to reveal a small, newborn face. The further he pulled, the more it revealed; there, nestled in his arms, were the still forms of two newborn pups. One was white as fresh snow, and the other was a ashen brown. However, the innocent familiarity of newborns ended there, because unlike most infants, these two were deathly still. Even though they were cradled close to their father's warm chest, there was still a chill to them not even a healthy body's warmth could chase away. Life had left them only hours before.
At the sight of his deceased infants, the estranged man began to shake with a terrible tremor as the horrifying truth finally sunk in. Everything went numb. His tongue turned to ash, and his eyes were blinded with tears. His knees gave out then, and they hit the floor with a harsh thud. But despite the loss of feeling, he still managed to cling to the one thing that pushed him this far. "I... s-so... sorry." He rasped, before a cry strangled his throat.