My muse is dead. Tell me how yours is dealing with it. Raltune dead
If there was one thing that Zalmai was not a stranger to, it was loss and it was suffering.
She had woken to the news of her mate’s death in war from the commander that he was serving under. Nyota was hugged to her hip, the toddler watching the orc curiously. She took the letter, and his tabard with a tired nod, before the legionnaire left the new widow to grieve.
If it weren’t for her son, the druid would have done as she did many times before. She would have shut down, put her face in the pillows and gone off to a different place, as not to fracture what little mentality she had left. She had too much to worry about. Her son to care for, and another child on the way. And to that effect, what would Ale have done if she just stopped functioning. The bird likely would have pecked her to death.
So for the day, the woman just sat in the hut in silence, letting Nyota play with his toys as he wanted. And then, she did what she does best. She picked herself up, and continued on with her life, keeping him in memory.
