weep not, poor children

From where he had been at the border some time ago, the howl for assistance had not gone unnoticed. But it had seemed far enough out on their border that Mordecai did not worry. He still went toward it for the sole purpose of investigating, but naturally took his time. It wasn't until he had happened upon the leftover scene of a fight that his interest grew piqued, adding haste to his steps as he followed the scattering of footprints and dabbled blood.

Far on the outskirts of what was more than likely their territory, Mordecai spied the open mouth of an old den peeking out from the snow covered landscape. The trails went there. He bristled with discomfort, picking out the various scents that he found there. Among those he recognized Mara's scent, and a troubling sense came to him. Had she been hurt? Had it been her that had called? Regret in not answering that call did not come to him yet. Mordecai approached the mouth of the den and was met there with the pungent smell of blood once more and beneath it, came the smell of something unfamiliar.

A growl rumbled loose from him, a sharp warning to whoever lied inside.