The Heartwood The fall

Peregrine had taken off hunting hours ago, and Fox had been tending (as best as she could) to Dove. Her breathing was ragged, worn, and shallow. A twisted frown passed over Fox's mouth. She did not think her sister was going to make it. She'd grown feverish days ago, and nothing seemed to help. She would not eat, could no longer make the walk to the nearby stream, and was wasting away. "Dove?" Fox asked. "Dove, can you hear me?" But her eyes did not even open. Knowing that her time was near—and that they could not call upon Blue Willow—Fox set off after Peregrine. They would need to move Dove somewhere out of the hustle and bustle so she could spend her last hours in peace.

Fox hustled toward the scent of Peregrine, picking it up here and there until she found the freshest one. It took her a good long while to find him, and she was surprised he had not headed home already. In fact, he was napping. "Peregrine, you lazy ass!" Fox called out loudly, though he did not stir. Was he going deaf, too? She attempted to rouse him, licking his face, still unaware that other ailments were at play. There was the faint smell of another wolf, but Fox assumed he had simply run into somebody while he'd been out here and attempted to recruit them.