Redhawk Caldera start over

At the first faltering interjection of Charles' voice, Bronco felt the corners of his own lips pulling down, tightening, prepared to fight against an ugly, sad grimace. Charles was most definitely not alright, and Bronco didn't really feel familiar enough with his packmate to move forward and see if he wanted a shoulder to lean on, or if he wanted to talk things out. Different wolves accepted support differently- and he had no idea what he could do for Charles, who looked as though he was on the very edge of falling apart. Something about the distant look in his eyes told Bronco that he was trying very hard to figure out on his own, exactly what he had to say. 

So Bronco nodded, and sighed. This was obviously pretty hard on him. When he mentioned the bear, Bronco squinted a bit; from what he could gauge from his tone, he assumed Charles had been there- and that perhaps he had witnessed his packmates being killed by the bear. Bronco knew none of the details- the horrible gore and shred of flesh- but he knew the grief of losing his close friends. "You saw?" He asked. Given the fact that Charles wasn't torn to shreds himself, he assumed that he- like Meerkat- had avoided participating in the battle, and he didn't begrudge either of them for it. Wolves untrained in the methods of battle would often become more of a liability, in a fight, than a help. "It's OK, Charles, if you're not alright. I wasn't there and I'm not alright about it, either." He confessed, hoping to quell whatever fears Charles might have had, about what he'd seen and been through.