He had worked so hard to protect them.
Was he selfish?
Was this truly to protect them, or to protect himself? He had done his best for the clan but it was in vain. His den of safety had succumb as all things do to the blaze, and so protected it was, his clan, his family, had nowhere to turn but into the ravenous flames.
And one by one, they were gone.
In the swirling inferno he could see no other souls; no survivors. No hope. The flame takes all, smoke smothering and fire licking at the burning fur. It was all he smelt; singed fur and burnt blood and his insides twisted.
All alone now. Nowhere to turn but into the blaze.
He couldn’t protect them, not from this, not from himself.
Restless embers, needy and edacious, licked at his fur as he sunk back to the safety of his home. It burned down around him, eating everything in its path, endless and always hungry.
In the end, was it the fire that killed him?
Or was it his fear of being alone?