Redhawk Caldera Symphony No. 5 in bass minor.

Towhee Redhawk had been through countless ups and downs throughout the last eight point five years. Some, she had been sure would be the end of her at the time. She’d always recouped, somehow. But this time… she really wondered if this was the blow from which she would never recover. It made sense. She’d lost many—her mate, her children—but losing her first and favorite grandchild was unequaled in its brutality.

She hadn’t left the Hobbit Hole in days, delegating duties from the den’s door when she could manage it. Towhee didn’t want to give up without a fight, so she tried to rest. When she wasn’t sleeping, she made herself eat. It was all so much harder than it should be, yet she told herself all hope was not lost. Killdeer might still turn up at this point. And it would be really mean if she was dead when he did.

This morning, cicadas purred loudly from every direction, though Towhee naturally didn’t hear them. She puttered up to the tree at the crest of the hillock over the Hobbit Hole and surveyed the caldera from there. She could see figures moving in the distance as the other Redhawks carried on with their lives despite this terrible burden they all shared. She was just glad they had the energy where she definitely did not.

Amalia had let Towhee alone in her grief. She had not wished to intrude. But Amalia was both heartbroken and angry. Maybe a little worried. Her biggest fear was that he would leave. He'd promised he wouldn't and yet here they were, he had. He was gone. Just like everyone else.

She settled beside Towhee and finally broke the silence. I'm heartbroken and I'm angry and I'm worried. But I'm more angry. This was my biggest fear you know. Everyone has always left me and I dealt with it. I smiled and thought the best of them. But now. Now I'm having trouble.

She felt so damn tired, yet sleep eluded her. Towhee closed her eyes, shutting out the world, but reopened them quickly when her thoughts began to swirl. She started a little bit when she saw Amalia seat herself a few feet away. Words tumbled from her lips before the elder could recover.

She could relate to Amalia’s every emotion, of course. Towhee had lost her grandson this time, though she’d been through the loss of her mate, the father of her children. Her empathy for the woman’s plight further drained her reserves of energy.

I wish I had something helpful to say. I don’t. But I’m here to listen.

She didn’t make the obvious joke. Towhee just let out a soul-weary sigh and met Mal’s eye. She could see the pain in that green gaze and resisted the urge to close her own eyes again. She didn’t know if she could cope with the feedback loop, the utter pain fest. But she would be here for Amalia, even if and until it actually killed her.

Amalia knew Towhee was sad and tired. She could see it. And part of her foolishly hoped she could keep the elder here with presence and love alone. But she knew eventually.

Amalai shifted. it's enough you're here. Thank you for staying g.

She swept her tail to wrap around the woman and sighed softly. She could accept this maybe with Towhee here.

Amalia thanked her for staying. Towhee wouldn’t go anywhere, as long as she could help it. But she could feel herself fraying apart at the seams, as if Killdeer had unraveled the very fabric of her existence when he’d gone. She didn’t know if she would have any choice, if her grandson didn’t turn up again soon.

There wasn’t really anything more to say or do in this moment other than lean into Mal’s embrace. Towhee closed her eyes again. This time, whenever she felt her thoughts circling the drain, she focused on the various points of contact with her granddaughter-in-law. It worked well enough to let her drop off into a drowse, though the respite would likely be brief; it was only a matter of time before a nightmare jerked her awake again.

I feel like it makes sense to archive or fade this here, if you’re good with that. :)