A cold wind blew over the tiny little den. Tucked into the dirt, it was concealing an elderly fem. She had gray fur; all of her fur was gray. Eyes opened, pale pink orbs. Then they closed.
Hestia let out a sigh. She was weakening. She knew what was coming.
War. Her king had started a war and she had to die of old age instead of in the battle. She let out a huffy laugh. Danes didn’t take kindly to that. At least in her experience.
She tried to get up, but she was too tired. Everything was spinning. Hestia thudded into the wall. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t even open her eyes either. What kind of a joke was this?
She laid her head down. With a sudden jolt, everything stopped spinning. She dragged her eyes open. “Fine way to die.” The elder was shocked at her own voice: groggy, weak. She was fading.
Ever since Eliška had died, it’d been lonely. Nobody wanted to hang out with Hestia. Eliška and she had always stuck together. But of course, Tarben didn’t hang around the elders much.
She knew she’d see her dear friend again. Hestia wasn’t scared. She closed her eyes, darkness being the last thing she’d see.