Zephyr's Boldness

The air in the den was thick with the scent of damp earth and the feverish breath of the two pups. Lyra lay curled against her brother, Zephyr, his small body trembling with a chill that had nothing to do with the outside world. His fur, usually a soft, downy gold, was matted and dull, his eyes half-closed, fluttering like moth wings against a weak light. Lyra’s own throat felt scratchy, her head heavy, but a fierce protectiveness pulsed through her, a tiny ember glowing against the encroaching weakness. She licked his ear, a gesture of comfort she’d learned from watching the forest creatures, though her mother’s touch was rarely so gentle.

Zephyr stirred, a soft moan escaping his lips. “Lyra?” His voice was a whisper, thin and reedy.

“I’m here, Zephyr,” she murmured, nuzzling closer. “Rest now.”