It had been months since the loss of his mate, and time proved it would not slow to give the tired man a chance to recover. His children had emerged from their BCRs and were quickly growing closer towards adulthood each day, serving to remind Norman that soon he would be alone. He was happy, like any father would be, but a deep fear lurked within his stomach each time he thought of his children being away from the safety of their father. He would not be able to protect them much longer. They'd leave the nest and embrace the big bad world, leaving their father in the dust and finally able to face the past he was trying to avoid. He couldn't deny that his children helped him avoid memories he wanted to smother under his paw. Yet, he knew he'd never be able to run far from his troubles, or from her. He didn't want to. Guilt lingered each time he denied himself the ability to work through the pain that lingered after losing his mate. He'd never be rid of it, but for now he hid behind the role of a father, refusing to truly acknowledge his loss. If he didn't think about it then it didn't happen – she wasn't gone if he just refused to dwell on his loss.
Spring was rolling in, and quickly. The snow had finally melted and Norman had allowed his children out for the evening. Of course, they weren't allowed far. He could still hear their chattering and cooing as he headed over to a nearby den. If he glanced back he would spot his children rampaging through the grass and trees. The kids knew better then to frighten their poor father by straying far.
It had been awhile since he visited the woman who had helped him find shelter for him and his children. He had visited periodically a few months back, but when his children grew bigger he became so absorbed with keeping an eye on the rascals that he had forgotten to drop by. Today, he decided he'd give an update to the older vixen who often cooed over his stories of the kids. It'd be a welcome change to converse with an adult. He loved his kids, dearly, but even he needed a mature brain to chatter with time to time.
Norman stopped before a moss-covered den dug into the earth, leaning down and tapping his paw against the medium-sized rock placed by the entrance.
"Breeze?" He called, refraining from rudely peeking into her den. If she wasn't here he'd stop by the next day, most likely.