Buck Up, Buttercup.

Surreal had told the children to head out and bring down some food; whatever they could. She had asked that Zuriel not announce her arrival to Falk, wanting to approach him on her own. She had persisted over Regulus’ protests that she was injured, and needed guarding. Finally, he’d accepted that she wouldn’t budge on this matter, and had went out with Zuriel. So Surreal turned her eyes to the mouth of the den. The smell coming from inside was rank; one of unwashed wolf. If depression had a scent, this would be it.

She made her way to the opening, looking inside at the slumped heap of a figure. What was once a fine wolf was now a bag of bones with fur on it. She stared silently, then decided enough was enough. She uttered a sharp snarl; a command. ”Falk! Get up!” The sooner he stopped with the behavior he was indulging in, the better he would be for it. Yes, she forgave him for running off and getting himself taken by Arcanum. But this she would not tolerate. ”Get up. You have a daughter out there who has been doing everything she can to keep you alive, and you’ve just given up? No, Falk, I won’t tolerate this. Get up.” She limped forward, snaking her jaws out in an attempt to grasp her mates scruff and pull him to his paws. He needed fresh air. He needed to get out of this den.

So, ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she set out to make sure he got just that. She’d drag out him by his tail if she had to.