Golden Glade and the bleak, cold breath of her still haunts me

She chuckled at his mention of Vasa, wholly aware of what he was talking about. Their daughter had become something of a connoisseur of the random and bizarre, filling their old den with all sorts of weird (and admittedly, interesting) little finds. She wondered how the girl would feel about leaving all of that behind. Then again, it wasn't like they'd be very far from there. Perhaps she could still keep her treasures in her little hiding place up on the plateau. Or maybe she'd jump at the opportunity to start herself a new stash. "I'm sure we'll find something decent," she replied to his comment about having to find a new den. There were so many little nooks and crannies in this forest that she wasn't worried about finding a private little hideaway to have her pups. The prospect of moving gave her so much to think about that, while the death of her sister still burned inside like a thousand icepicks carving out the walls of her chest, it at least gave her some distraction from the misery of it all.

"How are you holding up with everything that's happened? Are you doing okay?" she asked after a brief pause, suddenly aware that while she'd been so absorbed in her own reeling thoughts and emotions, she hadn't stopped to consider Quixote's. He always handled stress remarkably well, all things considered, but she also knew that he was the type to bottle things up until they boiled over.