She worries when she shouldn’t, worrying for every bit of this child’s existence, worrying that if she was just a little too late, something worse might of happened. The ‘no’ that is thrown towards her is enough to stop her in her tracks, standing with eyes tired and hurt, brimming with pain. Was it how she had attacked Hobgoblin that upset him? The Rougarou complained from beneath the water, sending out a flurry of insults and rage-filled comments towards her as the pain quickly turned into dull illness that forced him to suffer. It’d bruise, but nothing she couldn’t heal for him.
“It’s okay, I promise I won’t hurt you.” Did she come off as aggressive? Or was it her brother? She believes she can hear him snort as she thinks this, admitting his displeasure towards the both of them. Hunger ebbed in both of their stomachs, shared between the two of them, but she was more willing to suffer for the safety of another. “You’re safe with me. I’ll protect you.”
His body feels so frail against her side, so different compared to what Zhu felt like. When Zhu was a robust and muscular child who quickly shied away from her touch if it was too much for him to process, this child was willing to stay with her, to let her tongue drag against him as she worked to clean, slightly smaller than her own child, wearing one thing that left her feeling haunted. A skull face.
And while she doesn’t mention it, it hangs in the back of her head like an omen, thinking that maybe this could also a child of her son’s father. How many more children were there from Him? Was Zhu not the only one? Pink eyes meet her gaze and she wonders if she has made him uncomfortable. “You have lovely eyes; did they come from your mother?” If this was His child, then she couldn’t imagine him siring pink eyed sons from his red eyes. Even when the colours were close, it seemed farfetched. In the back of her head, she laughs to herself about the idea of Him having pink eyes.
Ears push forward as he talks about what happened to him, and with that single word, her heart sinks. Why? Why would anyone attack a child?
“Because child weak. Child dying. Let Hobgoblin eat.”
NO.
The quiver of his body tells her to dip her head into his side, searching for some sort of embrace that would hurt him further, offering a hug if he’ll accept. “Attacked? By who?” Did you?
“No. Found.”
She watches Hobgoblin finally emerge from the water, pulling his entire body from the water until he is able to shift, visibly experiencing discomfort by the position of his stance. “No hurt. Yet.”
An idea strikes her, one that might help cheer up the child and aid him in the process. “Would you like to see something cool?” ‘Cool’ felt like such an odd word, something she hadn’t said in some time, especially in that context. But with a smile on her face, hoping that she can manage to get him to copy, does she let the small white flame flicker from her lips, allowing it to fade out after a few seconds. Hobgoblin snorts at her for such childish things.
“And guess what?” Time for the big finale.
It draws from her lips once more, sweeping over his withers with gentle, hot kisses, working to take away his wounds. She stops once she feels that it is finished, letting him process it. “There’s no pain to it either!” With this does she laugh, feeling faint sparks of happiness take away the pain of seeing him in such a sate.



"If you could hear me then, can you hear me now?"

Sikeax;

i'm missing the beauty in your soul