She and I had a window which overlooked the forest. Birds, squirrels, lizards, and wasps frequently darted across my view. Their ignorance of my attention was quite amusing, and if it were not for that screen... I knew they would have all been defeated.
She would sit with me at our window, running her fingers across the crackling glass upon our desk, and occasionally pausing to gently stroke my back. She would look into the glass' light with intense focus, periodically speaking with it. I spent my evenings dozing in the sunlight, and listening to the melody of her voice, the crackle of the glass, and the song of birds outside.
When she began bringing him home, I promptly accepted his new addition to our pair. His presence pleased me. In training, he would praise me upon a successfully captured target. He enjoyed racing around our home, darting around corners and hiding. When I would play his game, he would laugh and speak to her, and she would laugh too. I was content. It seemed the three of us were stronger than the two.
Other times were not as kind. She would habitually lay awake during nights, silent against the darkness of our room. Her sorrow left a presence there, and slowed time with it. Long hours would elapse, dark clouds rolled across our window, and still she held to it. My presence seemed to ease her sleep, and so we would often doze together. The sorrow lessened when I would drape my arm across hers. I did what I could.
We spent the last morning lying together in bed after another restless night. She gently caressed my back. I slept. Her eyes drifted lazily from me, to our window, and back once again. She spoke softly, guiding my slumber with her gentle tone. We didn't do anything else that day. Though my stomach urged me to eat, she needed me. So I stayed with her.
When the sun had set, her speaking stopped, and she stood. She groomed herself, then moved slowly around our room, putting everything in its place. She closed the window. She silenced the crackling glass. Then she scooped me up, carried me out of our room, and shut the door. I slept outside our door that night, waiting for her to open it once more. She didn't.
When he came for me, he held her sorrow. I stay with him now, but the two of us seem weaker than our pack of three. I miss those long hours at our desk. I miss the games we would play. I miss those restless nights. But our window is gone, and so is she.
