Redhawk Caldera sunshine on your toes

While he held their son, Fox began to stammer in his ear. Not until her shaky, broken voice filled the den did Peregrine feel anything. As if her words opened a gate inside him, he felt the first wave of grief. It was poignant, yet... it wasn't like when he'd thought he'd lost Junior. He felt a stab of guilt. But that made sense, didn't it? Little "Derp" hadn't even reached a week of age. He didn't have a distinct personality, a voice, a real identity. Their connection had been tragically brief. Peregrine swallowed, his arms tightening almost apologetically around the sandy boy's limp form.

"Fox," he eventually said in a level voice. "This stuff... happens." His voice came out sounding strangely toneless and certainly much less emotional than hers. But he wasn't angry with her, even if she had contributed to his death (and it sounded like she might have accidentally smothered him in her sleep). "We can't beat ourselves up over it." Of course, that would be much easier said than done. But it was natural for some wolf cubs to die. And it sounded harsh but perhaps it was a blessing to lose him early on... and maybe it would help them raise the remaining three a bit better.

Of course, he wanted to address the things she'd mentioned, particularly these dark and dreary thoughts. Peregrine wasn't about to condemn her for them, nor did he for a second believe they'd had anything to do with "Derp's" death. But he wanted to know what she was thinking. Maybe he could help, even if it was only to tell her that all parents thought evil thoughts about their kids sometimes. Everything wasn't always sunshine and rainbows. Reality was much grittier than that.

"You didn't mean to hurt him," he concluded quietly. "I'll bury him," Peregrine added, feeling a pinch in his chest. He hated the thought of putting "Derp's" tiny body into the cold earth, of never seeing his little face again. "Unless you'd like to do something else," he added a bit distractedly, glancing at the trio of living pups. Fox had thought she would curse them by naming them. He briefly wondered if it hadn't been the other way around. "He died without a name," he murmured, too low for her to hear (hopefully).