Blue.
Orange.
Orange.
Orange.
One last petal remained on the rose.
Joe jerked Ox’s hand from his chest.
The wounds began to close.
Ox stopped moving.
Joe whispered, “Please. Please don’t leave me.”
Our mother said, “Come back.”
Gordo said, “We need you.”
Tanner said, “Alpha.”
Chris said, “You’re our Alpha.”
Mark said, “Our friend.”
Kelly said, “Our brother.”
Robbie said, “Our light.”
Jessie said, “Our hope.”
Dominique said, “Our past.”
Bambi said, “Our future.”
Rico said, “Our home.”
I said, “Our love.”
And Gavin said, “Our savior.”
Ox breathed.
In. Out. In. Out.
The last petal fell. It landed on the ruins of Ox’s stomach, soaking in the blood.
And then the ragged hole began to close.
Bone and muscle and organs reformed.
Skin grew.
The rose stem sank slowly back into the earth.
A raven circled overhead.