Redhawk Caldera Every single party needs a no-show

All welcome.

By morning, the fever had passed. 

Quiet words had slipped between the two Blackthorn men days ago, and Bronco was grateful that Eljay had on hand herbs that could help make the shaking go away and cease the throbbing in his head. Little was said, though he began to truly understand the shimmer of concern that grew and grew in his uncle's eyes, accompanied by the increase in medicines. He found the herbal taste lingered more and more on his breath, though it was little more than an attempt at covering the smell of sickness.

Neither of them were good at goodbyes, and both had already said far too many of them to count so when Eljay left him in the evening with a small parcel of medicines meant to tide him through the night, they simply smiled, and said nothing. He wondered, as he watched Eljay leave, if he knew- the same way Bronco knew. He suspected as much, and appreciated that Eljay had spared him the grief of yet another farewell, though he knew he could not return the favour.

He kept his chin up, for the sake of his family, and warmed his numbing lips with smiles so they might remember him forever that way. He hid the growing coarseness of his voice with whispers of legends, stories of mythical creatures that could only truly be told in a hushed voice. He buried his nagging cough with laughter. And while he could not jump, run or play, he still insisted that each of his children play a round of bobstones with him- and not once did he go easy on them. 

He waited, to watch them fall asleep on the bed of moss lightly adorned now with springs of gold. He watched the sun set into a hot and copper sky. He sat tall, so his beloved could lean against him and remember him for the man he had been, when he had first set eyes on her. He murmured memories into her ear, just so she might hear them once more, replay only the good ones in her mind. 

By morning, the fever had passed

and the cold settled into his limbs, into his body, and into the heart that had known so much love.

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!"

bronco did not get better.
teya supported him as she could; the duties of brecheliant were hers entire, delegated where she was able. forays were infrequent; she patrolled where she was needed and returned to his side, coaxing him with broth and chewed meat, with edible greenery.
and when eljay silently came and left his offerings, something deep inside a woman who loved a man so completely screamed. but she had said nothing; she had taken bronco's kisses and given him many of her own; the memories delivered; the unsaid emotions she had never unsnarled now turned to poetry for those beautiful ragged ears.
teya had seen death and had not recovered from it; teya had —
bronco's warm muscularity lulled the exhausted raven into a semi-sleep, mind turning to self protection.
the daze broke at bronte's voice; a blink, a breath. teya felt the coldness of bronco's form beside her and —
she cast out her embrace, to catch bronte; her voice was garbled, a choking sound as she tried in all valiance to hold herself in check. "he not going to wake up, baby."
maybe it was the wrong thing to say, to speak aloud; but it was all in the moment that teya possessed, an she tried very hard to forestall any hysteria.
"daddy was sick, yes? he is — not, now," oh, fuck, throat constricting, breath coming harder; "now he is — not suffering."
fuck fuck fuck fuck.
she wanted to scream.

They had risen early; they had run with the morning sun. It was a golden day, a better day, like the days were all becoming the more pa seemed to be growing into his normal self again. Like Bronte, Boris knew something was still wrong. Pa was still sick, but Boris' hope flickered a little bigger and a little brighter with every smile they shared together. What he hoped against, he couldn't really figure out, and he didn't really try to. The boy of many questions fell silent on this. Maybe he didn't want to know. Maybe he didn't need too. Or maybe, he was simply scared.

Boris stuck close to his siblings until they neared the den, when Boris pulled back to let Bronte slip in first, and gave Pony a glance, suggesting that he wait. He had felt their sister's excitement radiating like the warmth of a late summer day the whole way back, and though he wanted to push into the den and greet their parents with good morning kisses, Boris also wanted Bronte to have her moment with pa before he and Pony charged in.

But though Bronte's voice rose in excited trills, the space where pa's soft rumblings would have filled the air were...

silent.

She continued to speak; he did not.

He frowned. A few steps forward. Bronte, backing up, knocking gilded fur into him. A plea. Something wrong.

Not waking up -- Eljay says he needs rest. Maybe that's a good thing?

Ma, swooping in -- he not going to wake up, baby.

He took a short step forward, squeezing around his sister to see -- dad laying, unmoving, not suffering.

The world swayed beneath him.

"I don't understand," his little voice squeaked. Not a question, not even sure he was asking for an answer. Not waking up. Not waking up. You didn't open your eyes when you were asleep. It was only dark. Was pa's world dark now? He suddenly felt very small and he shrank against the wall of the den, unable to tear his eyes from pa's lifeless body. Blurred. Melding into a smear of colour.

For all he knew, pa was in darkness, and Boris was just a little boy who had no stars to bring him home.

kept references vague, please let me know if you'd like anything changed! <3 this whole thread is ;____; killing my heart

Ponyboy had followed along behind, disappointed that he hadn't been the one to find the nest and eggs first. The nest Bronte could have- but he wanted to know what lived in those eggs! So with the others, he raced back up toward the den, hoping that they'd find out, and that maybe his sister would allow him to open one of the eggs, just to see. 

Something lingered in the air around where their father lay, and he looked up to their mother to see first the pained expression she bore as she reached out to grab at Bronte. Ponyboy's ears fell back, and he proceeded forward, creeping, noticing a scent he neither knew nor liked. He shied sideways a few steps and let out a surprised puff of air when he saw his father lying there, noticing first just how still and limp he was, and then the way his fur seemed to have fallen flat against him. He dared to take one step closer, but he looked up with eyes wide when his mother explained that his father wasn't sick anymore. 

Hearing his mother, and her voice which held back infinite sorrow, Ponyboy didn't know what to do. "No, no," He said softly, and his lower lip began to tremble. "Mama, no," He pleaded, and choking back a breath he moved forward to press his temple into her side where could roar and scream and wail. 

It felt impossible. It felt wrong. He felt like any moment now, he should wake up from the dream and find that everything had gone back to normal- but every moment that passed secured this as the fate that had befallen the small family. 

He sobbed. "Mamaaa, please, please no?" He begged. "Pleeeease no, I don't wannnhim to be gone."

but it was over.
but it was done.
ponyboy wailed. boris did not understand. bronte seemed frozen.
hopefully they would remember that their mother did her;
best;
that she —
tried.
tried
tried