Redhawk Caldera a shadow tilts its head at me

It took a second for Fox to snap out of it, but eventually she started to. Raven, ever the aspiring medic, began to tend to her wounds, and Fox shook her head. "Your dad, he—Peregrine's dead." It always felt so foreign on her tongue, no matter how many times she said it. Her answer, of course, did not explain her own wounds, nor was she about to tell her daughter that they'd been gotten because they were having rough sex (no matter how amusing it was).

"I'll be fine," she assured Raven, "It's not a deep or large cut. It just looks bad." Fox was certain that it would heal just like any other wound. "Perry, your dad, he died last night. In his sleep." She was not about to tell everybody that they'd been doing the dirty when he'd kicked the bucket. It would add a layer of humor to something she couldn't fully process yet.