Malachi was frustratingly carving wood to make another horse. A part of him remembered the terrified woman last night. The one that woke up in cold sweat and tears and then she cried herself to sleep. The pain in which she cried had shocked him. He had felt it deep in his chest like infected wounds being poked at constantly. And he knew what he felt was only a sense of her pain. Not the raw emotion. Not the one she was dealing with.
If not for his bloody instinct that he was unable to control, he would have left her there terrified to know she made a mistake thinking she could be here with no consequences. If not for his damned instinct, she would be dead by now. That was how much she enraged him but perhaps if there was no instinct involved he wouldn't be so enraged either.
Malachi had still not spoken to Saul. Now that he could somehow imagine the loss of a breedmate and understand it a little better, he felt worse for his brother.
