Redhawk Caldera I love the smell of napalm in the morning

Wildfire slept almost constantly. This morning, she woke up with a dry mouth and snarling stomach. Fox brought her some freshly chewed meat, which she ate very slowly. She then stepped outside with her mini-me, leading the way toward a nearby puddle that was brimming following an overnight rain. Fox hovered concernedly as the pup took a painstaking drink. As soon as Wildfire finished and then relieved herself, her mother ushered her back toward the little den. But Wildfire shook her head. She was getting sick of the den. She plopped to her haunches instead, drawing in a long, low breath that rattled slightly in her damaged throat.

She wished she could speak, since she had about a thousand questions about the events of the past few days. But they would still have to wait. The wounds in her neck were clean, dry and mending, but even breathing hurt and she didn't dare speak, as the vibrations were nothing short of agonizing. Wildfire sighed through her nostrils, then cuddled up to her mother's side. Fox gently wrapped a foreleg around her, hugging the pup against her. Wildfire smiled weakly, her yellow eyes staring into the distance, as she sipped in shallow breaths of the humid morning air.