And as she stumbled onward--on toward the black forest, she put her face down to Peter and sobbed over and over again his name.
"Peter--Peter--Peter--" And Peter, joyous and grateful for her love and the sound of her voice even in these moments, thrust out his tongue and caressed her cheek, and the girl's breath came in a great sob as she staggered on.
"It's all right now, Peter," she crooned.

"It's all right, baby.

He won't hurt you any more, an' we're goin' across the creek to Mister Roger's cabin, an' you'll be happy there.

You'll be happy--" Her voice choked full, and her mother-heart seemed to break inside her, just as life had gone out of that other mother's heart when the baby died.

For their grief, in God's reckoning of things, was the same; and little Peter, sensing the greatness of this thing that had made them one in flesh and blood, snuggled his wiry face closer in her neck, crying softly to her, and content to die there close to the warmth of the creature he loved.
"Don't cry, baby," she soothed.