Redhawk Caldera Thirty days in the dungeon!

Raven knew the facts of life and death, perhaps better than most. She nodded mutely at Finley's well-meaning platitudes. Her godmother was right, of course, but that didn't stop her from feeling fresh grief welling in her chest. Her yellow eyes shimmered but she did her best to blink back the tears even as she tucked the little girl's corpse even more tightly to her chest.

She sent Elwood a sympathetic glance and a shake of her head, as if to say, It's not your fault. She then fell into silence, peering down at the small, lifelessly body between her forelegs. She nuzzled the tiny forehead and ran her tongue gently over the pup's fuzzy crown. She sighed quietly into the downy fur of her bitty belly.

"I know," Raven spoke after a long spell of mournful silence, "that you two think it's bad luck to name the others yet. And that's fine. But I don't want to bury her without a name." She didn't want her to be forgotten. What harm could it do to assign her a moniker posthumously anyway? Her luck had already run out. "Stoat," she said simply.

"I'm going to go bury her," the Gamma softly declared in the next beat, slowly rising and then pausing to see if either one of them wanted to come with her. "Next to mom and dad," she decided aloud. Wondering if either one of them might come—although at least one should probably hang back at the den—Raven gently plucked Stoat's limp body off the ground and exited the den.