Redhawk Caldera Every single party needs a no-show

Tags for reference.

Bronte had seen death before. In many shapes and forms. But only in small, scattered fragments. In the small prey brought back to the den site, life long gone from the bodies. In how the once verdant green leaves of summer, now turned yellow, brown and orange with the cooling of the air. She had never truly seen life slip from someone.

Out in the span of an open stretch of grass, dotted by trees on one side, she raced ahead delightedly. @Boris and @Ponyboy weren't far behind, the trio having been out on a little exploration together. In her mouth she delicately held a tiny birds nest. It was, miraculously intact, considering it had fallen from the tree in which she found it under. She was in awe of the intricacy of the structure, and even more so of the delicate sky blue, marble like eggs inside. There were only two, but she was still thrilled.

She was on her way, racing back to the den where she knew her father rested. He hadn't been his usual self recently, but put up a convincing front, entertaining her and her brothers with humor, games and great stories. He was a mighty, tough man. Yet gentle and doting all the same. Each scar or tear in his fur and flesh a story. He would get better soon, she knew it!

Surely her delightful little find would lift his spirits. He could tell her more all about it. And even find a safe place to store her treasure, where with luck, Ponyboy wouldn't find it and stomp the eggs. Her fire ridged spine glimmered in the light of the sun. Whiskey eyes brightened as the mouth of the den came into view, just over a gentle rise in the earth. "Dad! Dad, look! Lookit what I found!" She exclaimed brightly between her teeth.

There was no answer. Only silence. Stillness. Perplexed, she set the tiny nest down carefully. "Huh. He must be sleepin..." She mused, crawling closer. But, wouldn't he have heard her? She slowed as she got close. The air smelled odd. Wrong. She finally made out the outline of his body. So still. So peaceful. Bronte did not recognize the scent or the cold of death right in front of her eyes. Bronco looked as he always did.

Only...his sides did not move. Not even a twitch of an ear. "Dad? Dad c'mon, wake up." She whispered. Was this another of his games? If so, it wasn't funny. Not anymore. Worry crept onto her face as she slid close, pushing her muzzle gently under a limp, cold paw.

Then she felt it. The cold. The weight of how his paw thudded down, so heavily. Her eyes grew wide, with fear. Unable to understand, she backed up slowly, quivering slightly. Her bum gently brushed against whichever brother was closest. "G-guys...help. S-something's wrong. W-why is Daddy like that? We...we need to wake him up!"