Dawnlark Plains i watched the fire that grew so low

she did not move back as her brother hugged her, at once to drained to allow for any sort of reaction and knowing that she could not pull back, not now, not anymore. "it's not."  the words were surprisingly bitter, raspy as they were, and the anger that burned briefly through the ash that was her grief surprised her slightly. he'd died, and left them, left her, to deal with the aftermath. 

she could not admit to her own feelings of detachment, blurred reality, when surely she must remain grounded, keep the swirling ash at bay. she could not give word to her anger, could not call her father selfish for dying when he had, at the brink of what surely would be a hard season. instead - 

she snaked her way around her brother and to the body she could not bring herself to touch last night. bending carefully, she poked her nose to the unnaturally still fur, shoulders hunched and stiff as she tried desperately to pull her father's scent, his face, his pelt, deep into some protected corner of her memory. she would not forget him, the pack would not forget him.