Hobgoblin is a restless sleeper, and the reminder of it leaves her unsettled. It won’t last, the night tells her.
But nothing has lasted for forever. The time with her children has not lasted, her time as a member of the Dragon’s Throat, all of it, feels lost to the past and wind now. She has little to hold onto, and with the last of it tucked surprisingly neatly beside her, fast asleep aside from the occasional stir that stirs her into worry, her grip on him is harder than ever.
One can only imagine the upwelling of sadness in her when he comes to move, whining softly like he’s one of her children, unintentionally reaching into her ribcage and giving a firm crush to her heart. It brings more of him to life, despite his appearance.
“Sia?”
It hurts more and temptation is screaming at her to yell at him to not call him that, but they’ve changed because the world forces them to, and it is what keeps her from it. His head is almost at full mast when her name trickles out of Kid’s throat. Vacant eye sockets, coloured with milky white, both from the moon and the bone making up his head, let her know that there’s still enough time. Hobgoblin is not too far into consciousness to escape sleep.
“Hush,” Aches fill her up as his head holds its position, still locked in sleep but alert. Hobgoblin is one of her children: she has raised him, she was the one who took him when he needed someone, from this exact same place so long ago, and she is the one who has been beside him his entire life, teaching him, pushing through every hardship and miracle there has ever been. So why would it be that Hobgoblin doesn’t deserve the exact same treatment that she has given the children from her womb and the ones given to her from the world?
“my dear.” Soft, feather-light happiness kisses her with faint touches of warmth. Hobgoblin’s head dips back to the ground as her own rests against his body, pushing through until the ground beneath him is touched by her muzzle. The scent of his ghastliness is off, but it is not like she has never taken the time to test it. Aged blood, sea salt(just like her own), something she can’t figure out where it is to put her finger on it. All of it takes their own personal puzzle piece and fits it into a single mass that now that she thinks on it, she couldn’t live without.
His only response to squirm his legs into the ground and to push into her body more, seeking comfort and companionship.
She gently removes her touch from him when she feels it is safe to do so, turning to Kid with eyes full of restlessness and sleep, each tired shade of blue writing burden-heavy poems to match their sorrowful colours. She has seen so much better, but looking at him now, filling herself up with worry because here is one, another, someone she loves so deeply but feels nearly confused at its presence in her heart, he’s probably in the exact same spot as her.
“Kid,” A feeble attempt is done at filling the tone used to say his name up with softness, but instead, only manages to let it crack with the weight of love, worry, and joy that he’s still alive.
If only she could say the same thing for Zhu though.
“kicsikém, how have you been?” The words feel foreign on her tongue, and while they still are, the value of them brings a thin smile across her face. “I’ve been worried about you.”
And Zhu, but he’s gone.

"Talk."