There's a kind of a sort of cost

A voice, gentle to her ears, coaxed Philomena from her slumber. She went to curl protectively around her babies, wanted to tell the voice to be quiet, but upon realizing the warm bodies weren’t there Philomena opened her eyes with a start. She glanced about… only to have her gaze fall upon her father.

How was it he stood there, just a whisper away, and looked well? No trace of blood… no… anything. He looked fine. Philomena’s blue eyes widened with worry -- had she died? No. No, she told herself again. She could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest… there was no way she was dead. There was nothing that would have caused it. So then… was she dreaming?

“Dad…?” Philomena slowly got to her paws with a furrowed brow. She was confused… but she was trying to reign in her emotions as she worked to grasp what was happening.

“I…” Her voice cracked as she took a step towards him. He looked exactly like how she remembered… save for shorter than her. Gods, how had she grown so big?

“I missed you…” Philly’s legs felt weak. She shook, tears beginning to prick at her eyes. “Dammit… why did you…?” She trailed off, unable to finish her question.