Redhawk Caldera Bringing her body home

With the passing of each day, Raven withdrew further and further into her head.  She didn't understand herself enough to give words to the turmoil that reigned within her.  Her feelings toward her father hadn't improved much since the morning she'd witnessed him rip somebody's head off.  If anything, the distance between them had only grown as the trauma of that morning went deeper into her and festered like a poisoned arrow.  At least she had gotten to where she could tolerate being around him again, though if had the choice, she would still go find something else to do when he was around.  Nightmares plagued her sleep and although she had been a quiet child before, she seemed to have less and less to say these days.

Despite all of that, she still managed to maintain a reasonably normal existence.  She still laughed and played with her siblings, still snuggled with her mother at night.  She still ate with gusto, still explored on her own (one of her favorite pastimes, actually), and threw herself one hundred percent into the things Tiger had been teaching her.  Tiger, her newest friend.  Her favorite friend.

Fate wasn't done with her yet, though.  Whatever forces had conspired to warp and damage Peregrine's other black-furred children seemed to have the same plans in mind for his youngest as Sebastian's heart-rending howl rose on the warm summer air.  The rich, deep tones of his voice sang of sorrow and death, and the name on his tongue sent fear pulsing like silver fire through Raven's veins, curdling her blood and making her choke on the very air she breathed.  From where she'd been digging -- harassing bugs beneath a fallen log some distance from her family -- she immediately took off running as fast as her legs could carry her.  She tripped and busted her ass a few times, for she was still possessed of that charming clumsiness typical of pups her age, but she didn't let that slow her down.  

When she arrived, she saw her aunt and uncle already there...Sebastian...and there, in the grass, a figure in white.  Unnaturally motionless, silent, stiff, unmoving, save for the eerie way the gentle breeze ruffled her fur.  The scent hadn't changed yet.  Tiger.  Raven's friend.  She was dead.  Cold fingers of horror snaked around her heart and squeezed, and the child nearly choked on her own tears.  She staggered forward a few steps, panting under the weight of her grief, and sank down beside Finley, burying her face in her aunt's soft shoulder and trying not to throw up.  Raven hadn't known Tiger very long, but even the most fleeting friendships could mean so much to children.