Dillion

Dillion
Lead Male
Fair ⭐ Friendly
Pair Bonded to Senua

-- Grief -- 12/05/24
Dillion couldn't remember the last time he'd slept properly. Each night, he lay awake beside Senua, the weight of the losses pressing down on him like a stone. The quiet of the den was almost suffocating now. Where there had once been the frantic little cries of pups fighting for life, there was only silence.

The first loss had been a shock, even after all the warnings from Stark and Kima. He'd expected it—had almost braced himself for it—but the coldness of that tiny body, the sight of Senua's tear-streaked face as she mourned, had crushed him. Then the second pup, just as fragile. Just as helpless.

Now only one remained, and every time he looked at the last pup, the tiny female curled close to Senua's belly, his heart clenched with fear.

He shifted closer to Senua, nuzzling her gently. Her fur was matted with exhaustion, and her eyes were hollow, still haunted by the loss. There was a sharpness to her that he hadn't seen before, a defensive edge in her movements as she hovered over the last pup. Every time he tried to nudge closer, she tensed, her lips curling in silent warning.

"Let me help," he whispered, his voice strained.

She didn't respond, her gaze fixed on the pup as she licked its small body, her tongue gentle but her touch frantic.

Dillion let out a long sigh, his own eyes flicking to the entrance of the den. Kima and Stark stood outside, their heads low, their eyes filled with the weight of their failure to help. Stark had been doing everything he could—herbal remedies, incantations—but there was only so much even a healer could do when the very air seemed poisoned by grief.

"Why didn't they make it?" Dillion muttered, more to himself than to Senua.

Senua didn't answer, but the subtle tightening of her shoulders made it clear that she heard. He knew she was holding herself together by sheer force of will. He could see the way her body trembled with every small intake of breath. She wanted to believe that this last pup would survive, but how could she? After losing three so quickly, how could anyone hold on to hope?

Dillion leaned in again, brushing his muzzle across her cheek, his scent mingling with hers. He felt her stiffen slightly, but she didn't pull away.

"Senua," he whispered. "We'll get through this, together."

Her breath hitched at the words, and for a moment, he thought she might break. Her eyes were glassy, flicking from the pup to him, and there was a desperation in her gaze that he hadn't seen before. It was as if she was afraid that by saying those words, he might jinx it—that if she let her guard down, it would all slip away.

Senua's paw hovered above the pup for a long moment, her gaze never leaving it, before she finally allowed herself to collapse, her body folding in on itself, the weight of the moment too much to bear. Dillion slid beside her, nuzzling her once more, his body curling protectively around her and their pup.

"I won't let anything happen to her," he promised softly, his voice thick with emotion. He wasn't sure if he was speaking to Senua, to the pup, or to himself. Maybe it was all three.

For the first time in days, Senua rested her head against his flank, her body warm against his. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest, the rhythmic breaths that signaled she was still holding on. He wasn't sure how much longer they could keep doing this—how much longer they could keep pretending that they were fine. But he would stay beside her for as long as it took.

As he looked at the tiny pup, the fragile bundle of fur curled at her side, Dillion made a vow to himself. No matter what, he wouldn't let this last one slip away. He couldn't.

For Senua. For their future. For their family.

-- What's Going Wrong? -- 12/06/24
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the edge of the den as Dillion stepped out, his paws heavy with worry. The den's entrance was quiet behind him, and he could hear the soft rustle of Senua's movements within as she rested with the last pup. His heart was a tangled mess, the grief over their lost pups gnawing at him with every step. He needed to talk to someone, to understand what was happening.

Stark and Kima stood off to the side, their figures silhouetted against the fading light. Stark was perched on a rock, his head bowed in concentration as if listening to the wind, while Kima paced, her dark eyes flicking toward the den every few moments, her fur bristling with quiet anxiety.

Dillion approached them, his voice low and urgent. "Why does this keep happening? Why do her litters keep dying?"

Kima glanced at him, her gaze sympathetic but guarded. Stark turned to face him, his expression unreadable, the lines of his muzzle taut with worry. The wind shifted, rustling through the trees, and Stark's voice, steady and calm, broke the silence.

"We can't say for certain," Stark began, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "There are many things we can't control, Dillion. There's a chance that the land itself is at play—something that's beyond our knowledge. But as for the Faelcu…" He trailed off, his gaze thoughtful. "I've never seen any other pack struggle like this, not in my moons as a healer."

Dillion's ears flattened, his eyes hard. "But what if it's true? What if the Faelcu are cursed? What if they're the reason we've lost so much already?"

Stark shook his head, his calm demeanor never wavering. "I can't tell you definitively that the Faelcu are the cause. But I can tell you that sometimes life has a way of testing us. It's not always something dark or unnatural. Sometimes it's simply the way of things." He looked over at the den where Senua rested, his voice dropping to a softer tone. "We don't know why she's losing her litters, Dillion. But I've seen no sign of the Faelcu's presence. If they were here, I'd know it."

The wind rustled through the trees again, and Dillion's jaw tightened. "But why is she so convinced it's them? Why is she always looking over her shoulder, like she's waiting for them to strike? Why can't she just—"

"It's her grief," Kima interrupted, her voice steady but gentle. She stopped pacing, turning to face Dillion. "You have to understand, Senua is a mother, a new one at that. She's been through a lot. The loss of three pups, Dillion… that's not easy. It's easier to blame something like malevolent spirits than to face the rawness of what's happening."

Dillion fell silent, the weight of her words sinking in. He knew Kima was right; Senua had always been the one to take on the burden of things, the one who stood guard when he faltered. But this loss—it was different. It was eating at her.

"She needs to know she's not alone in this," Dillion murmured, his gaze distant. "She needs to trust that we're all with her, that she doesn't have to bear this weight alone."

Stark gave a slow nod, his voice softening. "She knows. But sometimes even the strongest need time to see that."

Dillion stared at the ground for a moment, his mind racing. He wanted to fix it. He wanted to make the pain go away for her, to erase the fear and the paranoia. But he wasn't sure how to heal something like this.

"That's not all," Kima added, her voice breaking into the silence once more. "The den… it's old, Dillion. And there's something about it that doesn't feel right, not to me. Maybe it's not the Faelcu. Maybe it's just the land beneath us, the air here. A new den, might change things for your next litter."

Dillion looked at Kima, her suggestion catching him off guard. She wasn't wrong, he realized. The den had been here since they claimed the territory, but nothing about it seemed off? Perhaps...

"A new den…" Dillion murmured, considering the possibility. "Do you think that would help?"

Kima shrugged. "I can't say for sure, maybe just refreshing it could help. If there's any hidden sickness."

Dillion exhaled, his breath shaky. "I'll talk to Senua about it. We'll figure this out."

As the last of the light faded from the sky, Dillion looked toward the den once more. He could hear Senua's soft, rhythmic breaths from here, the quiet lull of a mother's hope still lingering in the air. But he knew this battle wasn't over yet—not for her, not for their family. They had to keep pushing forward.

"Thank you," he said to Stark and Kima, his voice quieter now. "For everything."

"We're here for you," Stark replied, his gaze steady.

With that, Dillion nodded and turned toward the den. He had a conversation to have, a future to shape—for Senua, for their pup, and for the pack they had yet to build.