Dragoncrest Cliffs the girl has always been half goddess, half hell

Eske continued to darken Wildfire's doorstep but the Bandrona remained momentarily oblivious, staring down at the limp puppy at her feet. Only when the Cheka called out to her several times did Wildfire's attention snap to her, eyes wide but strangely glassy as she blurted, "I just—you—I didn't—he's..." She was almost certain he was dead—he wasn't moving or breathing—though she hadn't yet confirmed it. The young mother recoiled at the thought of touching him, yet she knew she must.

She forced herself to strike out a paw, her toes gently stroking over his small face. He wasn't cold to the touch yet, but when she rocked him ever so slightly, his head lolled strangely and he felt otherwise boneless. Swallowing the bile crawling up her throat, Wildfire bent down and touched his tiny flank with her nose even while turning her face sideways. There were no breath sounds, nor movement of any kind. When she dared nudge him gently again, he was unresponsive.

"He's—dead." And maybe it made sense to call for Portia but Wildfire didn't see the point. There was nothing anyone could do for poor Phoenix. Licking her lips, she glanced up at Eske again, eyes still strange and a little wild. "I—I—" I killed him, she wanted to say. It was an accident. But words failed her almost as utterly as she had failed her own child.