Redhawk Caldera The governer rests under the stars

When the trail had begun to go cold and the stars had been replaced by the pallid light of dawn, Shrike finally turned on wavering legs and headed back home toward his packlands. The exhausted male had tracked the rogue murderer as fast as he could since little Peter had been killed, but had been behind from the very start, and had had no chance of making up the distance between them. Even less so when the male hadn't eaten since before the ordeal and had taken little to no time to sleep.

The sun had begun to warm his back by the time he crossed back into the borders and he could tell by the temperature that ot would be a hot afternoon. Queazy from exhaustion, he traipsed back into the pack's claimed lands and with hazy eyes he sought out a small spot of shade beneath a shrub.

He'd alerted his pack to his mission when Peter had first been killed, and again when he'd traced the killer back to the pack and away again. With heaviness in his heart, he called out feebly, sorrowfully announcing his failure before he collapsed in a panting heap in the shade.