Roxy didn't stay paralysed on the floorboards of the hallway. The absolute second she heard Little Fedor crying, maternal instinct violently overrode her hysterical panic. She scrambled to her bare feet, her vision still slightly blurry from the tears, and rushed back into the room.
Dena was gently bouncing the infant, trying to soothe him, but Fedor was entirely inconsolable. His tiny fists were clenched tightly in the fabric of the wolf helper's tunic, his face flushed a blotchy red, and his white fox ears were pinned flat in pure distress.
"Give him to me, Dena," Roxy whispered, her voice cracking as she reached out.
