“Is he conscious yet?” Caolan asks from his spot in the corner. Croi says nothing but gives him the most eloquent look she can manage. She turns her head back to the brother and looks down at his face. Sighing loudly to express her discomfort, she brings up her arm and gouges her wound yet again. It hurts. It hurts a lot. Croi decides to make Caolan serve her forever in exchange for the pain she’s currently suffering. Two drops of blood do nothing, so she squeezes out another two, cursing the human curses she learned in the city. Four drops of blood seem to suffice. She watches as the night crow tries to regain its bird form before it fails and dissipates into noxious clouds. She waves her hand to clear the air, leans back on her haunches, and waits.

She doesn’t have to wait long. The catkin’s eyes flutter open, and the first thing he sees is Croi’s face. His eyes widen in terror, and he opens his mouth in a scream, but Caolan is faster. He muzzles his sibling before the young catkin can make a sound.

“Diarmaid, calm down. She’s a friend!” Croi beams at his words and feels mollified. Maybe she shouldn’t be so grudging about spilling blood. They’re friends. Friends spill blood for each other.

The younger cat sees his brother and sags, the fight going out of him. He hides his face in Caolan’s chest and sobs, great gasping sobs as though his sadness were a rapid river and he, too small a vessel to ride it. Caolan holds the kin tight, patting his back and making crooning sounds. Croi looks away; the moment between the siblings feels too intimate for her to intrude upon.

Diarmaid’s sobs subside after a while, but he doesn’t move away from his brother. If anything, he clings to him even tighter. He keeps sneaking looks at Croi—she can read the disgust in the wrinkle of his nose and the fear in the flare of his nostrils. She gives him her most insolent stare, and the young catkin bows his head.

“Diarmaid, I see Aindriu and Orrin, but there’s no sign of Bearach. Where is he?” Caolan asks, his voice hoarse with urgency.

The younger cat stiffens, his face going oddly still, as though he has been reminded of something he was trying to forget. He opens his mouth and closes it without uttering a word. And then he just folds over like his insides have suddenly been liquefied. He writhes on the floor of the cage, captive to some anguish the rest of them are not yet privy to.

“Mida, calm down! Breathe!” The last is a plea. Caolan grabs his brother by the shoulders and simply embraces him until the terror passes, until he stops shaking, until he can breathe again.

“Where’s Bearach, Mida?” Caolan asks again.

“They ate”—the catkin breaks off in a choked sob—“Bearach. They woke us up when they took him. We couldn’t do anything. I swear we couldn’t. We tried, but they froze our limbs so we couldn’t even move a finger.”