And that's the tragedy doubled, the fact that death was never inevitable for the pookas, that their lives weren't just cut short but were cut at all; two thousand or so years later, Bunny could still have his mothers and sisters and children and father figure and community, and he doesn't. Old Man Winter didn't just hasten death but created it wholecloth for that thriving people.

"I love that you feel that way." He really does. Dan can't and doesn't, but they don't need to have that conversation, and they've gotten so much better at recognizing that, that any inching Dan does towards Bunny's perspective is like the slow, natural, gravitational, tectonic slide of a glacier, not something that can be forced and sped up with words and conversations, not something that can be teased out with reason and argument. "I feel like I'm stuck in the adjustment period. It don't feel real."

It doesn't feel real to not just think of the future as something that won't happen. He sighs and snuggles up on Bunny. "Planning ahead ain't my strength. You're better at it."

Since Bunny's asked for more communication from Dan about his aches and pains, he pulls Bunny's paw over to a place of tension on his shoulder and places the paw where Bunny can squeeze out a knot.

"I have gossip for you, by the way."