Days after the burial, Seraphim hadn't yet said goodbye. It hadn't felt real - not even when wet dirt clung to tired paws as she, with raw determination, dug their graves. Not even when she pulled up the cloth her mother gave her as a pup in hopes wrapping it around her at night might still fill the den with her mother's scent. Not even when she found one of her father's bracelets and set it on-top his grave. None of it had hit home. As the days slowly trickled by she kept thinking that, perhaps, if she turned her head she'd be met with the patient and tired smile of her mother. Sometimes, it felt as if her father had left on one of his mysterious trips. Maybe he had just taken her mother, for the first time, along with him? Maybe they'd be home by the time she woke?
Grieving isn't easy - it's not something that works in a straight line. It doesn't go through simple steps that one can navigate with expectation. The path one took wouldn't be the same as another's path. There may be similar obstacles - anger, sorrow, denial, rejection - but, everyone had their own story to tell, and Seraphim's story was a quiet, lonely one. She didn't cry, or, at least she hand't yet. She didn't beg for her parents to come back, nor did she chase after the wolf who had ripped them from her. No, she just waited, as if waiting would erase what had happened and reward her with the soft pitter-patter of returning footsteps. She wasn't even necessarily hoping, either. She just felt numb, her life coming to a dramatic standstill that she didn't quite notice or care to fix. A life without her parents hadn't been something that crossed her mind, and now that she was thrust into it so suddenly she was lost on what exactly a fully grown wolf should do.
Hunting was easy, for the most part. She, like almost all wolves, had been taught to hunt at a young age. The problem wasn't that, per say, it was more figuring out when to hunt. She had the skills; she could take down prey and forage for food and water just fine. She just never had to do it without being told to, and that led itself to some interesting problems along the way. To say Seraphim lacked the ability to properly take care of herself was an understatement - she was horrible at caring for herself.
So, she starved for the first few days. Perhaps the loss of her family and the numbness had stilled her stomach long enough for her degrading body to not take notice at first, but after the fourth day Seraphim began to notice a deep seated pain begin to creep through her body. It had been there for awhile, she just failed to either notice or care. Either way, that pain had finally urged her to get up and track down a few rabbits; easy kills for the most part. She was fast, something that later would prove to save her hind more often than not. Her first meal without her family was crushing, and it left her heart feeling heavy once she disposed of the bones.
Next, she discovered that lounging in one's den often led to two issues; poor hygiene and a den that was slowly collecting debris and vermin. The next day was spent on upkeep; her den cleaned meticulously and eventually the river attacked with reckless abandon to clear her fur of the dirt she'd accumulated. This lesson would have to be relearned three times before it stuck in her head; one couldn't just wallow in their den forever.
Lastly, the final lesson was brought to her in a flash of blinding light, brought on by lightening scattering the sky. A storm had finally swept through her territory, sweeping away her father's bracelet and dirt she had left behind in a neat pile. She stayed within her den, curled in a tight ball to retain warmth under the cloth she now used as a blanket, muzzle delicately placed on her tail. Alone she stayed, listening to the sounds of thunder erupt through the sky. It was then that it truly, utterly, and without mercy hit her - her parents weren't coming back. They were tucked away under the earth, protected from the rain that threatened the field outside her den, and there they would stay. No amount of quiet and slow destruction she caused upon her body would bring them back. Her suffering was unheard, and benefited no one.
It was then she realized that she had two choices; waste away in a den and be the final victim of a madman, or pick herself up and continue - and she wanted to live. Dying alongside her parents was morbid. It was something her folks wouldn't want, and something that would leave a scowl on their muzzles if they ever heard her do so. The stranger who had murdered her parents would win, and Seraphim felt a deep and angry ball of disgust in her stomach at that realization. She didn't want him to win. No - she was too spiteful, too resentful for that.
She would live. Not only that, but happily, too. She wouldn't let his actions ruin her. She would persevere, and she would grow. One day, she'd have a family of her own, whether in this den or not, and she'd look back on the memories of her parents fondly. Everyone lost their folks someday, she just happened to a bit earlier - why give up due to it? That was silly. Her mother had chose to create her, and so she'd do her best to honor the she-wolf she loved so dearly by moving on in life.
When the storm passed and gave way to the sun, Seraphim picked herself up and retreated from her den, shaking herself off. Worries bounced off her fur and her numb heart thawed. She would start living again, and her new life would start from that minute on. Seraphim finally turned towards the familiar clutch of trees where she had buried her parents, a soft smile on her lips as she inhaled a deep, rejuvenating breath.
It was time.
"Goodbye."
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