Heron Lake Plateau I don't love you; but I always will.

Fig didn't know when his mother died. Truth be told, the young Redhawk barely understood that he even had a mother in the traditional sense. Camilla had never been this loving entity that kept him warm and happy and protected. She had been a wall full of milk, more like a feed trough than a parent. The wall gave him no comfort. It never made him feel loved. It was just a thing that was there until it wasn't. The only thing about it was its consistency in always coming back.

Only this time, it wouldn't come back. Fig would notice eventually, but for now, this wasn't concerning to him. What concerned him was when his sister crawled away, leaving him behind. With an affronted squeak, the boy blindly attempted to follow. When he couldn't find her, panic began to rise, and only then did he begin to wail in fear and frustration. Losing his mother was inconsequential. Losing Fenn? He couldn't bear it.

Fortunately, the Redhawk's devastation did not last overly long. His aunt was there, and soon Fenn was back. His wails ceased as he feverishly snuggled against them both, crawling up his sister so that his head and forepaws were planted firmly atop her back as though to keep her pinned in place at his side, right where she belonged.