Redhawk Caldera slow like molasses in january

Stop giving me all the feels. :'(

Fox furrowed her brow. At an earlier point in her life, she would have cut him off before he'd had a chance to finish what he was saying. An older (perhaps slightly wiser) Fox listened to him until he fell silent, going over his words again and again in her mind. The Redhawk alpha hemmed and hawed, uncertain. The old Fox would have kicked him out without a second thought, but they had a life together now. Peregrine was her rock, and she was his. They had more children on the way, and suddenly Fox wondered if they had made the right move after all. A wave of nausea swept over her, and she swallowed hard.

A wolf who could not hunt could do nothing. A wolf without a nose was worse than one blind in both eyes. A wolf's sense of smell was their livelihood, and Fox was unsure if Peregrine would survive for long without it. If he could not hunt for even himself, how could he? He would no longer be alert to trespassers whose scents differed from those of pack mates. He would no longer be able to strengthen their borders because he would be unable to sense where they were weak.

She had no answer for him. Fox stared at him blankly, confounded.