It stumbled forward on its oversized paws, head low, ears flattened, its golden eyes wet. It pressed itself against her, burrowing into her fur, purring low and broken.
The mother stirred weakly, golden gaze dragging open as her paw twitched toward the cub. A deep, rattling growl vibrated from her chest, softened by a low purr. The sounds rose and fell in steady rhythm—communication I couldn't parse, but unmistakably meant for her child.
The cub whined, pushing its face into her muzzle, as if refusing to understand.
Her eyes never left it. Not me. Not the battlefield. Only her cub.
Her breaths slowed, the sounds slowly dwindling to nothing, then stopping altogether. Her body sagged.
The cub nudged her once. Twice. Again, harder, as if trying to wake her. Whimpers cracked through the clearing, raw and fragile, tears streaking down its dark fur.
I looked away.
The sight pressed too close, an ache buried somewhere I couldn't name. If found myself questioning yet again,
