Loss

Fidelias had found his mother curled up with Domari that morning, both cold and unmoving by the remains of a fire. He wasn't a child any longer, and had immediately known even as he approached that they were gone. He had grieved - was grieving still - but he couldn't let the grief consume him. He was alone now in Valhalla, but loneliness had never much bothered him. His mother's absence, though, would leave a gap in Valhalla that would affect more than just him. She had been a skilled warrior, as had Domari, two of the most experienced in the pack. Their deaths did not leave Valhalla vulnerable, but it was a vulnerability, and left them weaker. He would need to take up her legacy - it was what she would have wanted - and better learn to fight as she had. Next to that duty, what did his reticence around other wolves matter? He no longer had the luxury to indulge his own weaknesses. Steeling himself, he pushed his head into the entrance of the Adravendi caverns. "Aurielle?" he called out in a gravelly voice. He knew she was quarantining, but she needed to know about his mother and Domari.