Ouroboros Spine My night with the prostitute from Marseille.

They lingered near the plateau for a week before departing east. Towhee showed her son how to hunt groundhogs in a winter field. They glutted on her kill for a day or two. Bushtit claimed the head for himself and did his best to strip and clean it, though the task proved more challenging than he’d anticipated.

Still toting the rotting cranium, he strode alongside his mother as they pointed their muzzles south. Scenting wolves in the neighboring forest—she felt a small pang when she realized her harbor was no longer safe—Towhee gave it a wide berth as she led them toward the northern fringes of Ouroboros Spine.

Last but not least: Moonglow, Towhee announced as they rolled to a halt, eyes drifting over the views before cutting over to Bushtit. You—what’s wrong?

He’d dropped the nasty skull, which rolled to the side. Bushtit sat suddenly and hard, pawing at his throat. His eyes bulged as he made choking noises Towhee couldn’t hear. But she didn’t need to.

Bush, she said loudly and unnecessarily, crowding into his space before abruptly slamming a paw against his upper back.

It did the trick. Something flew from the pup’s mouth. Towhee watched him gasp in several breaths, slowly but surely recovering. He sank to the ground and she did too, her legs suddenly feeling like jelly.

You scared the shit out of me, Towhee murmured, pressing her muzzle to Bushtit’s temple as a foreleg snaked over his back. Sorry I hit you, kiddo. Shit.

Bushtit shot her a little smile and shook his head, leaning hard against his mother, both of them momentarily forgetting they were sitting on Moonglow’s doorstep.