Page 55 of We Live Here Now

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It’s not the storm that keeps the raven awake.

He has weathered worse in this life on the endless, reckless moor. He hides behind the warm chimney as the wind batters the front of the house and fluffs his feathers to protect the cold husk of his dead, accusing mate.

He turns his head away, preferring the cold wet air to her brittle feathers. Perhaps he should move backward and let the wind take her. Bright Wing is becoming impatient. She has gone back to the others tonight. She doesn’t like the house either and doesn’t understand why he has to stay. He can’t explain to her why. He doesn’t truly understand himself.

Unfinished business.

He wishes Broken Wing would crumble to nothing already. Is it only her lingering resentment of him— You let me die. You murdered me —that keeps what remains of her corpse together? If she disappeared, then he would be free. She would be dust on the wind and he could fly far, far away from this place. To start again. With Bright Wing.

No more before before before. No more forevermore. He needs to do something. As the wind finally drops but the rain comes down harder, he raises his own strong wing to protect her remains.

This has to end. His mate is dead. He knows that.