Redhawk Caldera you must become an island.

omg

In the week since the tragedies -- although the rest of the pack was only aware of one death that day -- Elwood and Finley had grown apart. She had taken a brief excursion outside of the territory, and he had doubled his efforts to protect the pack. The majority of his time was spent prowling along the borders. Only when they retired together to their den in the evening did Elwood allow himself to be faced with their losses, and although it felt as though Finley was far away, they clung to each other desperately during the midnight hours.

There was a distant expression on Elwood's face as he sat upon the smooth surface of the large stone near the den; his eyes were glazed as he stared blankly ahead, completely ignoring the vibrant spring landscape around him. He barely heard the gurgling of the creek as it tumbled along nonchalantly at his feet, following its set course with no deviations. If only life could be more like that; no unexpected twists and turns, just one easy, predictable situation after another.

One ear twitched as he felt, rather than heard, Finley's approach. He blinked, slowly drawing himself back into the present as he turned his head to look at her. She looked tired, worn; the light was gone from her eyes and she almost appeared to be a shell of herself. Elwood's heart dropped as he gazed at her. Despite what had happened, his love for her was still strong -- but it was hard for him to feel anything but sorrow.

She didn't speak, and neither did he. The silence was filled with background noise; it seemed that was becoming their standard, as of late.