Nobody said it was easy
January 31st; Mid-morning; Sunny; 11 ° F, -12 ° C
After having risen for the day and had done his best to stay put and stick to the paths close to the pack den, Angier had had enough. Using both Elettra's and Ravenna's scent trails for guidance, he meandered about wherever their paws had stepped and maintained the highways that snaked through the willows. Something within him stirred however and it was markedly laced with something akin to intuition and a pressing need to explore a little bit. A part of him was entirely certain that someone - Elettra, Niles, Ravenna, or even Morganna - might come looking for him if he went too far.
For a time he traveled along Ravenna's pathways, imagining in his mind how she might have graced them with her snow-white paws, head high and shoulders back... like her mother. In the autumn months, when the sun had been shining, he might have been able to still make out the blurred outlines of the trees and picked out the silhouettes of creatures and his fellow pack mates; but, now, in the last weeks of winter, his eyesight had descended into darkness and all he was able to "see" now was an eternal night. No stars, no moon, not even a comet...
His nose began to lead him through the snow where it had been untouched, and his ears were rotating now to and fro as he slowly and unknowingly made his way over Willow Ridge's borders. Depending on where his paws stepped - sometimes he would nearly lose his footing on a root beneath the snow or a fallen branch that had been lost beneath the frost - he adjusted his path. Once or twice, as expected, he struck his nose upon a willow vine or clipped his shoulder along a hedge; but, something soon after made him stop. He had brushed his paws along something frozen in the snow. His brow furrowed; it was... spiky.... or furry.
Angier's unseeing eyes stared down at the heap of snow before him while his paws desperately tried to uncover what he had found. If it were food - a deer, moose, a boar, a pronghorn - then he would need to summon the others to help him bring it back. With his right forepaw, he pressed his pads along the small creature's left shoulder, following it along her back and down her rump. It was slender and lean, he found, trying hard to imagine what the creature had once been. By just how little fat and muscle there was left on it from the hardships of winter, it seemed more fawn-like until he got to the head and swept his paw pads over what was a large triangular ear, an elongated snout, a gently sloping forehead, and an iced-over nose.
For minutes the patriarch struggled, caressing his paw over the fragile thing's forehead until he finally thought of how else to assess the situation. Swooping over the body, he sniffed, ruffling the fur in places until he poked a tuft of down behind the ear. His heart sank. "No," he whimpered, eyes stinging as he stared through the darkness at what should have been his beloved daughter's face. The aroma of the Ridge willows had been long gone from her pelt; only the distinct markers of her own scent gave her identity to the father that could not see her.
"Isolde?" he whimpered, leaning down with an anguished cry to press his nose to hers. "Issi?" He reached out his paw to give her shoulder a shake, as if that alone would jolt her back to life. "Isolde... Isolde!" he tried again, loud enough to startle the birds from the surroundings trees. With his back and shoulders aching from how he was poised, he collapsed into the snow, tempted to bury his face into the child that he had lost. His eyes closed and his ears folded back, sniffling as he kissed the girl's ear and temple, wishing he could see her so that he could properly pull her close to him.
"You're okay," he whispered, his heart trembling in his chest. "You're home. I'm here. I'm sorry. You were so close an' I couldn't find you. I couldn't see you. I am so sorry, my girl." How long she had been there, he couldn't tell, but the frost and icy temperatures had preserved her to a certain degree and only then did his nostrils pick up on the trace of death that accompanied her identifying musk. Beginning to be consumed in his grief he fought to take a few deep breaths until he offered the chilled winter air a song that summoned for his mate or for any pack member who happened to be within earshot to help him with his youngest's body.