Fox's Glade Lights down low

She let out a soft relieved sigh when the other said that it would be better eventually. Her red eyes battered up at him, at the scars. They were very visual, like hers. She looked at them, really looked at them. "Do you hate your scars?," she asked, which was a rather bold question for her to ask someone. She looked back down to her paws. "I hate mine. They remind me of what I lost," she admitted to him.

She frowned. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. Don't you want to find them? Keep that hope?," she ended in a whisper. "I would do anything to have any hope of my mate and pups being alive but I know they are not." She had been with them for days after they passed, until their body turned cold and stiff. She shuddered, that had not been pretty.