Redhawk Caldera We are the dreamers

While he waited, Nightjar kicked at a loose pebble on the ground and tried to summon up the faces of his loved ones in his mind. He vividly remembered Peregrine, Fox, Wildfire, Finley and Elwood. He also remembered their basket case of a son, although he tried not to. Raven was a hazier memory, someone he hadn't seen since he was a pup, and others were long gone or not remembered. He'd been there when his younger siblings were born but couldn't recall what they looked like or even how many there were.

When a dark shape with sharp accents of ginger and snow descended from somewhere unseen on the Caldera, he briefly wondered if she was one of the siblings he'd nearly met but abandoned. It took him several moments longer than an ordinary wolf to determine that too much time had passed for that to make sense. Though she was more or less indistinguishable from an adult wolf, there was a lankiness yet to Towhee that betrayed her. She probably wasn't even a year old, which meant she was probably a sibling but not one from the previous year, as the only wolves who had ever bred on the Caldera were his parents and godparents (and surely they would not produce such a spectacularly coloured specimen). But if that was the case, then where were Peregrine and Fox?

The chill with which she met him better suited a much older and more jaded wolf, and it was enough to cow Nightjar into submission and silence the question on his lips. He snatched back his ears and lowered his posture, well aware that as far as she was concerned, he was nobody. He overlooked the strange, deadpan way in which she spoke, if only because he was extremely unobservant when it came to social cues of any sort. "Nightjar," he answered simply in his heavy and slow manner, using only as many words as necessary, as always. He almost asked who she was, but refrained. She didn't look the sort to entertain his question anyway. "I'm looking for Peregrine and Fox."