Dragoncrest Cliffs my tongue is sour from the hunger of missing you

The days seemed to grow painfully long with Thur bedridden and Wildfire missing. Artaax had been silent and watchful over his nomi throughout her illness. He kept whatever distance she or Portia requested of him, but usually no more whenever he was at home with her. Whenever he wasn't with her, he was busy doing his duty for the pack. He hunted often, simultaneously splitting his attention between that and keeping a watchful eye on their home. He brought whatever he caught to nomi first, then took whatever was rejected to offer to the others in the pack. It was rather monotonous work, but it kept his mind from worry over both of his ailing parents.

Today, Artaax approached the cave with a white heron clenched by the neck between his teeth. He was extremely proud of this particular catch and so was hopeful the commander would be well enough to have at last a small nibble of it today. He bowed his head slightly as he came near, chuffing between his teeth to announce his presence if she hadn't spotted him already. He was surprised to see that she was standing. Hope trilled in his heart as he crept a few steps closer, eyes brightening and ears perking up tall as he looked at her.