I've been holding onto this idea for a while and finally got into the mood to write it down.
An autumn breeze blows across Papetoon's capital. It flows through its modest skyscrapers and apartment complexes, running beyond to the city's outskirts. It tears through the leaves of trees and smaller plants that grow around the oasis. It carries the scent of life scarcely found throughout the desert that stretches further than the eye could see from the tallest point. It cuts into Krystal's arms, sending a chill that bites deep into her bones. A shiver wracks her tired body.
"Feeling alright, love?"
Krystal turns to the soft voice of her other half. Fox's hand takes hold of her own. Their fingers intertwine. Grey blemishes his once-auburn fur into the likeness of smouldering ash. His muzzle, now wrinkled, wears a mild concern that also manifests in his green eyes.
"Just a chill," Krystal answers. A smile pulls her lips.
Fox nods. "Should have worn a jacket."
"Oh, shove it, you old dog," she retorts playfully. "I'm not about to freeze to death." A smirk dances across his face. He still adores her feisty spirit after 40 years of marriage.
A round of cheers draws their attention towards the yard of their home. A leash of foxes run across a makeshift football pitch. Their ages vary along with their colours. Some adults. Some children. Some blue. Some with other hues in their fur. Excluding the eldest generation, they made 20 in total. Six who shared blood with Krystal and Fox. Six who joined their family through love. Another eight born from those unities, who take the game more seriously than their parents. That makes 14 Cerinian foxes to pass down their genes and culture after Krystal's time in this world reached its end.
And that day was coming sooner than she hoped.
"Is it enough?"
"Hm?" Fox looks to Krystal. "What is?"
"Our family. Have we done enough to revive our species?"
Fox sighs softly. Though not born a Cerinian, Krystal recognised him as one in spirit long ago. Sadly, spirit alone could not repopulate a species brought to the brink of extinction.
Krystal still does not know why she alone survived the death of her home world and its people. If there were others, she and Fox never found them. Not in all their decades of searching. Perhaps they simply didn't look in the right places. The universe is a vast realm to traverse. Nevertheless, Krystal knows that only she remains to continue her lineage. Only she can teach her children about Cerinia's history so that their heritage does not vanish forevermore.
"I can't stop thinking about it," Krystal frets. "All it would take would be one more disaster, one more cruel twist of fate, and our family could disappear in an instant. There would be nothing left of us then. No more chances. No more future. Everything we've done would be for nothing."
Fox's hand squeezes hers. There is understanding in his touch. Strength. Comfort. Love. "We've done everything we could to make sure that our family can be safe and happy. It'll be enough."
He looks towards their children. His eyes have lost most of their sight, but Fox can still hear their laughter. He can feel their joy. It makes him smile.
Krystal, too, watches them. She sees their eldest son, Marcus, struggling within the arms of his three daughters. He tosses the football to his sister, Vixanne. Their brothers Jim and Randall besiege her. Vixanne passes to her son, who passes to his Aunt Sabrina. Krystal shifts her gaze to her youngest daughter, Peppa, standing on the sidelines with two hands laid over the twins in her womb. Peppa calls the next point scored, inciting cheers and frustrated groans from her kin.
Krystal thinks back and wonders what more she could have done. Perhaps she could have birthed another child or two before the doctors became concerned about her blood pressure. Yet that wishful thinking will never change anything. Krystal supposes that it does not need to. It was not like she and Fox waited until their wedding before she first conceived. They chose to gain their bearings as new parents before planning their next child and the ones after. Krystal understands that she and Fox used their time as wisely as they believed at the time. He told the right of it. They did all they could in the past. Nothing will change it.
Towards the future, Krystal sees nothing more that she can do. Her body is old and weary. The warrior's strength she once possessed faded from her decades ago. She can bear no more children even if she tried. Now, daily doses of pills maintain her health. Walking home from the supermarket with fresh groceries is a feat. Even her telepathy, the blessed gift of her species, holds but a fraction of the range and power that Krystal used to command.
Someday, possibly soon, she will leave her loved ones behind to mourn at her bedside. The one thing that Krystal looks forward to is reuniting with the loved ones whom she, herself, lost as a young vixen. At that point, she would be left with no choice but to entrust the rest of her life's work to her children. If they do not pass on her ancestors' teachings to the next generation, that will be their decision to make. Krystal understands that not all things can endure time's uncaring march. As long as they live on and raise happy, little Cerinians of their own, she can rest in peace.
Krystal squeezes Fox's hand and leans against his shoulder. He kisses her brow and nuzzles her crown. Together, they watch their grandchildren run up to them, excitedly asking whether they saw their game. Krystal smiles as she masks her worries from them. Her fears are not as large as they were moments ago.
There might have been more that she could have done for the children of Cerinia. However, with all that she had done up until now, it will need to be. For 66 long years in life, Krystal worked as hard as she could with what she had. She is proud of what she has achieved. This is now her time to rest.