Whitebark Stream we'll build our walls of aluminum

Since news of the fight reached him, Artyom had failed to settle. He distanced himself from the cubs, leaving them under the care if comrades while he looked for his absent and wounded mate in the wilds beyond their home. While he wanted nothing more to hold them close, the gilded patriarch did not trust himself to shield his children from the weight of his very real, very raw fear for what fate might've robbed them of their mother.

Exhaustion had crept into his aching bones and, reluctant to end his search, he knew he was no use without allowing his body to rest. He returned to the stream, fruitless and drained, but there was no time to seek comfort among the affection of his sons and daughters. Dawn's announced arrival lifted his gaze, his ears, his fragile spirit, and at once Artyom was sprinting through the pallid trees to locate her.

Nothing could've prepared him for the sight of his beloved, made rugged by battle. All his bottled stress left the Alpha's maw in a sob as he rallied to Dawn's side where he belonged, aimed to reach out and touch her, assure himself that she was real.

"Oh, Dawn," Artyom crooned, aware suddenly that all of their young had evaded their sitter to greet their dam, but made no move to reprimand them. Earthen eyes sought those of his mate, and his lips trembled; "what happened?"