Redhawk Caldera i will sing no requiem

something had changed in that month, and it was a softening around all the hardbent places that had formed inside teya. her days narrowed to her children, to their gamboling and laughter and their sweet fragrance as they lay curled together in a slumbering heap beside her.
sorana remained a constant on her mind; she could not forget how her daughter had looked that very day of reyes' death, which she replayed in the silence of insomnia.
teya was healing, healing in the way a scar might hurt as its ridgeline of pinked flesh solidified into something always tangible. the guilt would not leave her ever, and with this the raven had tried to seek some semblance of peace.
she withdrew from the pack somewhat, letting life move on without her outside the space of the den. her hours became them because if she let it be more, the old ache of shame and loneliness would eat her alive.
in this month she continued to drift just outside the borders, calling for sorana or visiting for the hundredth time the densite on the lake island, as if she might find the brilliant red form of her child at last returned.
teya had not given up her own hope; she had only devoted herself to such a high level of pragmatism that she no longer expected sorana to come home. therefore when the call rang out, voice somehow changed and yet the same, teya only stared off toward it with surprise.
shaking herself free of the pups and not glancing toward bronco, the raven's feet pounded wildly against the ground as she raced toward where sorana stood.
and when they had finally seen one another, she slowed her approach, halting some space away. her eyes took in all of her daughter, looking for wounds or signs of sickness or anything. she met the beautiful eyes and a thousand words ran to her tongue, all of them sticking and muddling until her face only suffused with desperate relief and she offered a small, tremulous smile. "it very good to see you, sora," teya ventured tentatively.