Lost Creek Hollow lions in winter

He didn't know exactly why she was crying, but a vague sense of understanding was enough for him to say: "Aw, honey - I'm okay. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." He was reminded of the heat of flames against his muzzle, his father's voice cracking as the man called out to him. Grayday! Come to me! Follow my voice. Mud had seemed like a god on that day, leading him to safety, but the very next, Day had heard the rattling cough in the man's lungs, and had been reminded that his father was a mortal like any other. That he could and would die one day, and that, with a cough like that, the day could be very soon.

Mud had lived - was still alive, the last time Day'd seen him - but he still remembered the sinking, powerless feeling of realizing his father's mortality.

"C'mere, greeneyes," he said, negating the need to follow through with the order by moving closer to her on his own. He pushed his forehead against her cheek breathed a soft sigh. "Don't worry about me, alright? I'm a tough son of a bitch, and this ain't gonna bring me down."