Is this the end?

Basilisk woke to a den too warm. He ran a dry tongue across parched lips. When he tried to get to his paws he staggered, weak. It wasn't a sensation he was accustomed to. Stretching his body out to move made him realise he was freezing, and he shivered even as he felt the warmth that clung to his body. The spring day wasn't that hot, and he realised at last what had happened. Crap.

“Yara” his mouth was too dry, the hoarse word was barely a whisper. He licked his lips again, and forced the word out. “Yara” where was she? He needed to keep this from Ignita.