Epitaph Destruction Cool air raced thin fingers through his fur as the male limped towards the familiar den near the Rapids, crippled leg dragging uselessly. The moon was well above the horizon now, though not quite at its peak. The day had been long, tending to victims of the fire. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. There was nothing the dark wolf wanted to do more than settle into his bed and sleep until he was forced awake again tomorrow. The descent into the den itself was difficult, with his limbs deadened by exhaustion and strain. It was slow going, and the last few steps were no more than his feeble attempt to keep from falling the rest of the way down. However, the only one in the den was Poem. He could see her ashen form curled up right away, even in the low light. Miss Shaye must still have been out dealing with the aftermath of the fire. He did worry though as to where Motif could be. Perhaps with the lion who she had ardently defended only a few days prior? Regardless, Epitaph attempted to remain as quiet as possible as he shuffled his way to his little offshoot of the den. If Poem was already asleep, he wouldn't want to wake her. The girl would need all the rest she could get for the coming summer, after everything that had happened. "Speech"

Poem wasn’t asleep. She didn’t think that she would be able to sleep again. The smell of the smoke and the flashed of fire as it singed her fur was all she could see as she tried to close her blue and lavender gaze. Seeing her aunt Eulogy bloodied and soaked to the bone, afraid that where Noir hadn’t succeeded in taking her life the fire had in taking Eulogy’s. On top of everything she’d experienced after only wanting to help, she hadn’t seen Edgar.

She hadn't been able to call for him, her throat was too raw from the smoke. She was convinced that after two miracles there wouldn’t be a third for her best friend. Poem wanted so badly to talk to him about everything that flashed in her head, instead she bottled it up. It made her tummy hurt, and she had a terrible headache. When Epitaph limped by her there was a sense of relief. The tension she hadn’t realized was there fell from her shoulders as she whispered his name.

”Taphy?” Her voice was plagued with the effects of the smoke on her, and her inability to process the trauma from the day couldn’t have been more obvious as she sobbed softly. She instinctively reached out for him, asking wordlessly for his affection.