Dawnlark Plains hair of the dog

Shale had spent much of his time hunting for his pregnant mate, so the signs of Grayday's sickness had whistled past his head. Even if he had noticed, he would have assumed it was just a redux of the illness that had swept through the pack this past winter. As it was, it had been a while since he had spoken to his brother, and it was only the still lump of gray in the distance that drew his attention. He thought it was a rock, at first--but rocks didn't have hair.

Dropping the badger in shocked reflex--he'd surprised it, coming out of its den--Shale rushed forward, taking stumbling steps closer and closer until reality began to sink in. He wish he could turn back time, could reverse everything, to erase this memory from his mind forever. Grief brought him to his knees, mournful whimpers trembling through his throat, his eyes clenched tightly shut in the utmost agony.

"Day, no," Shale moaned. "I thought we had more time. I never--I never got enough time with you. I never got to say all I meant to. Please, Day," he pleaded, nudging the stiff belly before him, in the hopes of feeling it stir. "Please, Day, wake up; I can't lose you."

There were more figures that came and gathered round the body, but they were mere blurs in his vision as he lost all ability to focus, to comprehend what had happened. It felt as if someone had ripped out his innards, his bones and drained him of blood, leaving him empty and as lifeless as his brother. He'd never thought about this; never prepared. He wasn't ready.

He wasn't ready.