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Like most ghouls, Mountain expected that when the Second War came to Heaven, he would be fighting to the end alongside the army of the damned. He had not imagined a life on the other side of failure. He had not expected there to be life on the other side of failure.
Well… what's that they say about living versus being alive, anyway?
The wretched little camp of survivors is tucked in a gulch, far from the Ministry they knew, far from the last front line. They had watched, helpless, as the fiercest among them took up arms against Heaven's army, some for a second time. Some watched their mates go to never return.
Tattered sheets of cloth stretched between rock fixtures and gnarled trees make improvised shelters for the majority of the survivors, while Mountain's carefully woven walls of branches make a small, reinforced shelter for the kits. They didn't ask for this, he thinks.
Rain waddles over from his perch outside the nursery, wrapping his swollen fingers around Mountain's thinning bicep. His unspoken question burns in his eyes.
Mountain shakes his head.
"You'll find him though, won't you?" Rain rasps, his voice ragged with exhaustion. "He's still out there, I can feel him."
Mountain doesn't have the heart to suggest that Rain's hormone-addled body isn't at its most precise at the moment, and he does consider the possibility that Dew's kits are sharpening their bond. Rain insists that they're Dew's, that he knows they're Dew's, and who is Mountain to question him. It did become more believable with time, Rain running hotter and hotter until he was sweating in the middle of winter. Mountain hopes, for his mate's sake, that he's right.
Swiss is the next to approach Mountain, helping him unload his pack and assess the new state of their supplies. Mountain had hoped to return with at least enough meat for everyone to have something tonight.
"Don't get down on yourself, man," Swiss says, squeezing Mountain's shoulder. "Something is better than nothing, maybe next time we'll take a party and-"
"No," Mountain growls. "There aren't enough of us to split. Who would watch Rain and Zephyr?"
"They can watch themselves, you know. Just 'cause Rain's knocked up doesn't mean he's lost his claws and teeth. And don't even insinuate to Zeph that they can't handle themselves."
Mountain shoots a look back at Rain, who is pacing in front of the nursery again. His tail lashes through the dead leaves, kicking up foliage in every direction. He looks—despite the distinct bulge in his abdomen—as fierce as he ever has. Still, even if the kits are Dew's and not his, that's his mate, his mate who has made life in the wreckage of Heaven's fury tolerable, who has been his reason to go on, whose survival is more important than his own.
"At least take Aurora next time, she's been itching for a hunt."
"Aurora is helping Zephyr tend Ifrit."
Ifrit, who came home when Dew didn't. Mountain chases the selfish thought from his mind.
"Let Phantom try again, he's getting much better with his hands."
"Phantom was an asset to the infirmary for his connection to the Quintessence," Mountain says, trying in vain to warm the chill in his voice. "Without it…"
Swiss bares his teeth at Mountain's cruelty towards his mate.
"Phantom is more than his element. You should know that." Swiss nods in the direction of Mountain's latest failure to connect to the Earth: a mess of plants half-grown in the side of the gulch, dead before they could reach an appropriate size to provide meaningful shelter.
Mountain's growl rumbles low in his throat. Swiss bristles and steps back from his pack leader.
"He won't get any better if you don't let him," Swiss adds, hoping to distract from the jab he just made. "He could really help around here if he learned how to treat wounds like the rest of us."
"And if Ifrit dies in his care?"
Swiss flinches. It's not impossible that the wounded fire ghoul won't make it, but he and Aurora have held out such unwavering hope that being reminded of the possibility of failure is like being struck with a lead pipe.
"This isn't a game, Swiss," Mountain's voice softens. "This isn't even a war, not anymore. This is massacre. And you can't forget that, even for a moment, because that's the moment someone dies."
"I'll go with you, then." Swiss crosses his arms. "Zephyr can keep watch of the camp."
"Zephyr is watching the kits."
"Rain can watch the kits! Satan knows he'll have to do plenty of that for his own litter soon enough, without Dew here!"
Mountain leaps at Swiss, snarling, knocking the multighoul to the muddy earth and pinning him by the shoulders. Something dark and possessive sinks its teeth into his gut, guiding his hand to fight Swiss for his constant disrespect.
"I am Rain's mate just as much as Dew is." Saliva drips from Mountain's bulging tusks. Swiss grimaces beneath him.
"And you're always off hunting, alone! Forgive the poor ghoul for assuming that one day you aren't going to come back!"
Mountain freezes. That's Swiss's voice, but those aren't Swiss's words.
Swiss must see him falter, because the multighoul sits up and wiggles out from beneath Mountain, drawing his legs beneath him and taking a passive if not slightly defensive stance. Not that Mountain can blame him. Lucifer, what's come over me?
"What did he say to you?" Mountain asks, his voice breaking.
"Why don't you talk to him yourself?"
"Because I failed," Mountain wants to snap, to shout, but his confession comes out weak and warbled. "Because I fail him every day that I come back without Dew, without even a trace of him, something, anything to put his mind to rest."
"Mount…" Swiss begins, testing the waters by putting a hand on the side of his face. The short fur on his cheek is matted with rabbit blood. "Dew…"
"Don't," Mountain whispers. "He's not…"
Swiss squeezes his eyes shut, leaning his forehead against Mountain's. "You are all Rain has left. Don't get yourself killed too."