Maleah often found herself curious. Children seemed to swarm Sapphique like little crickets, and the marble grew more and more accustomed to their little faces and shouts of play during quiet afternoons.
Today was no different. She'd come by way of the meadow with a bundle of supplies to store away in her ever-growing stash when the shriek caught her ears. It was one of the babies, no doubt, perhaps a spawn of Mireille's, and instinctive panic stirs in her tummy. That was no feigned shriek, was it?
Her collection is placed in the soft grass before she sets her sights on the flock of birds that shoot from the treeline.

Admittedly, Maleah had been ill-equipped for what awaited her. High-pitched chatter in a language she did not understand led her onward through the brush, until her head pokes through the foliage and the shapes of two round puppies come into view. What also hit her rather immediately was the atrocious, distinct smell of something very, very dead.
Jesus Christ, her teeth mash together inside her mouth as she lets out a low whistle.
Her approach is ginger as though not to startle. She examines; a coyote, a baby; and her eyes travel between the two children. One is disgusted, the other seemingly fascinated; this could be a good teaching moment. And then, she pauses, a little dry tonguetip poking from her lips. Time to figure out a way to go about this. What'cha got there?

Oh, these poor children.
Tousaint reeks of secondhand embarrassment, and Sobeille of something like frustration at her new friend that could not hear her call for companionship. Maleah herself gives a soft look to the boy before her gaze turns to the carcass, and then to the swollen eyes of Sobeille.
How do you explain death to a baby, especially when the dead thing is right in front of her?
Okay, she reaches out a timid paw to rest upon the dried hip of the baby coyote. Her voice, calm and willowy, as gentle as she can muster. he can't play with you because he's not alive anymore, baby. He's dead, this was a really piss-poor explanation, but this had not exactly been in her medic training. Her ears fall to the sides of her head. when somebody dies, their body doesn't work anymore. They can't feel, hear, or see anything.
Another sidelong glance is given to Tousaint as if he might help her. At least he seemed to understand what was going on.
And when you see a dead body, the good thing to do is leave it alone. If you pick him up like that, it could, um, fall apart, she wanted to say, but she wasn't looking to emotionally scar some children this afternoon. it could damage his body and it could get yucky germs on you. And you don't want those. because that means I have to deal with it.

Oh, Miette. The sight of her prodding and shouting hurt even Maleah's embittered heart, and her face contorts even more into a deep frown. How come he's dead?
That, she didn't know, at least not upon first glance. Her instinct was to inspect, to find out; but a forensic examination in front of children was not exactly on her to-do list for the day. She puffs air from her nose. We might not always know why somebody died, she then moves her paw to rest at the shoulder of little Miette, urging her to back away. it could be any number of things. Sometimes someone gets really sick and can't get better, or maybe gets injured and can't heal. as she looks at the carcass, she realizes just how recent its demise must have been. It churns at her stomach. but he-- he can't wake up, sweetheart. He's not asleep. Not in a normal way.
Her gaze trails over to Tousaint once more, a softness floating across her features. When somebody dies, you bury them in the ground so that they're nice and protected while their soul passes on, and she turns again to Miette, a sympathetic warmth to her northern tongue. would you guys like to help me put him to rest?