Redhawk Caldera The monsters are here.

Hotah had known the quiet of grief before, but never did it seem to weigh so heavily as it did now— here, in the hush of the Hobbit Hole, where even the rain outside seemed to still in mourning.
His eyes lifted when Towhee stirred, catching the faint tremor in her movements, the wet gleam in her gaze. He did not need her to speak— the air itself had changed. The world held its breath.
When her voice brushed against his mind, soft and brittle as smoke— he didn’t make it— Hotah felt something cold settle beneath his ribs. For a moment, he said nothing, only nodded once, a small, reverent tilt of his head that promised understanding. His gaze followed the gesture she made toward the roots above, where life still clung to the earth even in the deep chill of autumn.
Yeah, he murmured, voice low, thick with warmth despite the ache that threaded through it. I’ll take him.
He moved gently. The pup was so small— smaller than his own paw— and yet, in his stillness, there was a peace that needed no words. Hotah cradled Marmot’s tiny body with care, pressing his muzzle briefly to the soft down of the boy’s fur. Sleep easy, little one, he whispered, breath catching on the words.
Outside, the rain had softened into mist, the kind that kissed rather than cut. Hotah dug beneath the great roots, the soil rich and dark beneath his claws. When the hole was ready, he set the pup within it, nestled among leaves and moss, and covered him tenderly until the mound was smooth and still.
He stood for a long while after, head bowed, before murmuring to the earth itself: Keep him close. Let him dream of warm things.
When he returned to the den, he lingered at the mouth of it, shaking the damp from his fur before settling beside Towhee once more. His gaze found hers, steady and full of quiet strength.
He rests now, Hotah said softly. Beneath the roots— where the tree will remember him.