Blood, blood is everywhere. It coats all things in a thick, viscous slop that suffocates every pore and stains the palest of furs. There are red markings where there should be none, and a chest cavity ripped open for all to spill forth. Slender and nimble paws continue dragging forward, but the body is no longer moving. He is no longer moving. All he can do is stop and stare, watch the nothingness before him- until he realises that, in fact, the blood does not belong to him. It does not belong to him at all. There is no tang of him in it, but it still remains familiar. He does not know the source, and yet.. he does. He knows it better than anyone, better even than himself. It is his little birds blood; his Hush's blood, and it stains him all over.

Deep, haggered violet eyes open to the darkness of his den, to the emptiness that looms out as much as in. There is no warmth here, no joy, no happiness. A broken heart lays within the depth of his den, and he can hardly take it upon himself to ever leave. Coza had been by, to see him fed and see him alive, but that was the extent of it. No family had come, if there was any family to be had left. Who knew where any of them were, and if any were still alive. Like Roamin, any of them could be well beneath the earth, and he might never know it. Weeks and weeks had passed since that day, but it still felt as if it were only earlier that day- and Sen did not know if it would always be that way. He would never hear Roamin laugh again. He would never heart Roamin smile. He would never meet the grandchildren he might have had one day, or the wolf his first son might have brought home to show his proud parents his forever treasure. Siren was as close as he could possibly get, and so just as his son did, he treasured the girl himself. Much as he lacked care for his own well being, the Medicine Wolf still frequented the den she stayed in- his den- just to make sure all was well.

Perhaps that was why when the wolf approached, Sen immediately thought the soft steps belonged to that of the dark demon girl. But the thick scent of blood has him immediately pushing to pale paws and dashing out of the den. But what he finds, well, perhaps he would have laughed on any other day. For it is not Siren's face that finds him, but dear little Suomi. Little Suomi who is little no more. He remembers well the girl Coza had found, kicking and screaming and brewing up a storm. One so little could not possibly be so fierce, and yet she was. And now, here, years later, she is at the entrance of his den, and there is something very much already broken in him that fractures even more, if even possible. She is no daughter of his, but adoptive daughter of Coza meant adoptive niece of his. And she was alive. Battered and bruised, perhaps. But alive and well, and there was a joy in there that he felt with much relief. Seldom it was that Sen felt anything at all anymore, and though instinct had him gracing her with a gentle kiss to the cheek, duty had him looking her all over with dull violet irises. She was not too well off, but she was not in horrible shape either. A few scrapes and bites here and there, at the most peculiar of places.. such as the corners of her mouth, and all around her face. He cannot help the slight narrowing of his gaze at this observations- why she should end up with wounds like she has is rather peculiar, and though he does not voice it, he does give her a rather pointed look before setting to work. His otterskin pouch is within the den, and so with a quick dash he has returned beside her in mere moments, prepared to set to work.

It honestly felt wonderful for the pale male to work and to keep his mind busy, to care for others in the wake of himself. Most of her wounds had scabbed over already, her body naturally pushing out any infection or disease she might have picked up, and so he settled on a simple healing salve that will simply speed up the process of getting her back into top notch shape. When he is almost done applying his mixture with the warm touch of his nose, violet eyes finally connect with the wine red of her own, and he speaks, his tones rough and gravely from his current lack of use. "What brought you home?" For what else could he ask her, truly. It was not like her to dabble and tell him all about where she'd been or how she was or how she felt or any of that frilly and pleasant stuff. It was like Suomi to be blunt and straight to the point, and Sen would have her no other way. There is even the ghost of a smile on his features as he watches her, a certain fondness there usually only for his children, but with few of those left, he would cherish all he could in the meantime.