Archer
He'd been here at the beginning of the month and found nothing, and perhaps he should travel again to Andy's gravesite, the place of his daughter's birth, but this had been the most recent meeting place he'd brought her to, and he hoped she might find her way to the pools. He kept coming back to check here, and each time his heart broke a little more. A piece of him despaired that he would never see her again, this creeping horror in the back of his mind, crawling up his nape. He forced himself not to believe it, to keep moving, to keep looking. She had to be okay.
She had to be.
She probably just found somewhere safe to hunker down for the winter, like Aquene said. Had to.
Archer was not doing well. He was barely eating, could only force himself to hunt when his legs trembled, would eat carrion when he found it but the carcasses were picked over this time of year. He could return home, rest and recouperate there, but he couldn't bring himself to do that either; taking a break felt too much like giving up, like betraying his daughter.
He didn't have a choice today, however, and he dropped heavily beneath a tree to rest his chin on his paws and drift in and out of sleep.
Archer is very haggard and thin; it is obvious he is not doing well.