Lost Creek Hollow wish we'd grown up on the same advice

Snow fell softly from the skies overhead; it had been long since Rannoch had been out of his den while it was snowing. He appreciated his new-found freedom, even if his mobility was impaired. Rannoch knew that with his independence came new responsibilities—namely, his children. There was a part deep within him that felt like he had neglected them, and he sought to change that. 

@Deshyr's scent was the freshest outside of the den and Rannoch followed the trail she had left. Although slow, he hobbled with determination in an attempt to catch up with her.

Junior Scimitar did indeed feel neglected, but Rannoch wasn't entirely to blame for his daughter's self-imposed distance. Deshyr had a mind of her own and it was quite an opinionated one. She had faced the disillusionment of how strong her Zeusian father truly was—seeing him now as the fallible and temporarily fragile creature that he had become—and it left her feeling uncertain of everything. Even about how much she loved her father.

How could she love someone and feel this disappointed by them?

She didn't understand yet that it was because she loved him, that she felt so affected, and she was pondering running away again when she heard Rannoch's hobbled approach coming from behind her. Her concerns melted briefly as she saw him, her features perking up and bushy tail lifting into a happy wag as she welcomed his presence. But her eyes fell to his legs as he moved with his newly restricted gait,  and she could feel her expression crumpling like paper in the fists of a child. Ashamed, she turned her face away and lowered her tail.

Rannoch felt heartbroken about the drastic shift in Deshyr's spirit; something had to be done to bring back her smile. "DJ," he beckoned, his tail wagging gently at his hocks as he slowed to a stop, "Come here, my sweet girl." 

Although Rannoch had a hunch about the root of his daughter's distress, he wouldn't assume. Rannoch moved a step closer and smiled softly. "What's wrong, sweetie?" he asked.

My sweet girl.

Deshyr felt her face grow warm enough to steam; and the falling snowflakes were in danger of evaporating before they could touch down upon her hotly embarrassed muzzle. She was melting to him just as surely, despite her misgivings, and now stood on the fringe of discovering the deep and youthful well that was her heart, as well as how easily disturbed its waters could be.

She tried to stand strong—even with her legs quivering and her face quailing—but when asked what was wrong, she felt something split inside of her as she tried to decide on which woe was her greatest. Mom's been a wreck! Wisteria is missing! I need you, and you can't even run with me!

"Daddy," she ended up wailing, throwing herself forward and diving into his broad chest with abandon. She forgot his wounds, and was a solid, tall girl these days, but acted very much her age, desperate to be near a part of her very DNA. "Oh Daddy, everything's been just awful without you!"

"Daddy!" Deshyr lamented as her front crumbled. 

Welcoming her embrace, Rannoch steadied himself before they collided. "Oh, Deshyr," he breathed, "My strong, sweet girl." He meant every word. "You've been so brave," Rannoch praised. "Daddy's so proud of you." 

Rannoch snuggled against Deshyr, and whined while he covered her face with kisses. "It's going to be alright now," he promised between his affections, "Daddy's going nowhere."

He wouldn't—as long as he could help it. Rannoch spent a majority of his day consoling Deshyr,  giving her the attention she needed.