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Dax ate cold leftovers in his cramped sleeping chamber, having been banished there as soon as he and his mother got home. Lying in the dark afterwards, his body achingly tired but his mind unable to find peace, Dax relived the day's adventures, and always his thoughts wandered back to the Ranger who had died saving his life, his last words emblazoned in Dax's thoughts:
"We. Are. At. War."
Dax cringed at the thought of his own inadequacies, the danger he had placed himself and his best friend in, and the Ranger who had given up his life as a direct result. He realised with a start that he didn't even know the Ranger's name. Probably he had a family: parents, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, maybe a wife, all who would now be grieving the loss of their son, brother, nephew, husband.
Morning was a long time coming, but finally, weak sunlight began to trickle down the tunnel towards Dax's chamber. He couldn't recall whether he had slept at all. Instead, it felt as though he had flitted aimlessly through the night without purpose.
Then Dax heard his mother call him to morning meal, and so he stood, stretched his legs, fussed his wings until they aligned neatly, and walked out to a new day, his heart heavy.