Arrow Lake this empty northern hemisphere

Nothing came out of him. He felt his belly convulse and his shoulders tense, head hanging and swinging like a pendulum between the small cache-pit and the grass nearby, but the feeling didn't ebb until a few minutes of struggle had passed. Mesa sighed, gulping at air as he turned away from the exposed rabbit with its red, gleaming skull. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut and ignore the images of the dead thing with bits of fur still stuck to it, because it brought to mind the contours of his father's face and - there, it set off another wave of dry, empty heaves.

He got up as he was mid-cough and staggered away from the cache, nearly walking in to the silver figure of Praimfaya; she said something, but his head was starting to pound, so he mostly missed it. As the spasm ended this second time he huffed and puffed, reaching with a swing of his snout towards her - and snapped uselessly, as if to deter her from coming closer or asking questions. It occurred to the boy that the very idea that he could be okay was repulsive - how could he possibly be alright when his father was -- was -- M'fine, go away.

With his tail lashing behind him he began the slow but steady climb up the ridge, away from where his father's grave sat - and the exposed cache, open for scavengers to pick apart if they dared to tempt the wolves.