Redhawk Caldera Solutions to my gloom.

The many recent reunions had served as a distraction for Towhee, momentarily pulling her out of her funk. But it didn’t last. She roamed along the ridge line this morning, the old angst flaring right along with the stiffness in her leg. She had wanted to ask Bushtit to accompany her on a short trip but he was gone again and, anyway, the girls were too young for her to leave them overnight.

She ground her teeth and halted. @Tawny Lark and @Splendid Fairywren were just about old enough to be relocated to a rendezvous site, if Towhee followed traditional timelines. Since they lived in the Hobbit Hole, she had no particular plans to move them, but an idea wormed in the back of her mind…

She resumed plodding, ignoring it for now as she tried to work out the kink in her hind limb. When Towhee felt as limber as she thought she would get, she swiveled and began picking her way down the caldera’s exterior slope. She would wear her usual groove around its base, even as her enmity toward the land she guarded reached measurable toxicity.

What Towhee feels for the caldera is growing in Bassetki for the entire smear of wilderness that edges the northern sea, from Silver Creek to Broken Boulder.

It is a godless land. She can feel it.

Bassetki approaches the nest of redhawks because she is hungry. The path of many guardians has worn a literal trail around the squat mountain, and the priestess does not cross it when Towhee comes lumbering into view – partly out of respect, partly because the ground is so saturated with the grasping dead that Bassetki is afraid they might pull her behind the veil.

"Mother Elder," she calls out, for this is what she sees – a wolf bearing the weight and honor of many years. The golden wolf adjusts her posture accordingly, then waits for Towhee and her evidently bothersome hind leg to approach.

"I come for company in the hunt, Mother Elder," she says from a place respectfully low to the ground. "Have you a man of no account to lend me?" She means slave, but has learned from previous encounters that this is not the cultural norm.

She didn’t hear the shout, though Towhee spotted the figure seconds later. She halted, orange eyes squinting at the stranger who bore a striking resemblance to so many faces from her past. Sucking in a breath, she adjusted the angle of her trajectory slightly and began her stiff-legged approach.

The woman spoke before she could, calling her Mother Elder. Towhee’s nose wrinkled a little, though she supposed she’d earned such designations. She certainly felt every bit of her elderly status today. It wasn’t just her body, either, but her spirit that lately felt so weary. Like it was thinning in places and might soon fall apart entirely.

Anyway, what followed that title was a lot more interesting. The stranger spoke so formally, Towhee wasn’t quite sure what she was asking. The phrasing did earn a little snort of amusement, though. Her gaze traveled back and forth across the woman’s pale face, speculative and intrigued.

Instead of answering the question, she asked one of her own: What is your name? Towhee spoke slowly to enunciate the words as much as possible with the scar tissue stiffening her tongue. Do you live around here? she added, suddenly curious whether her slow speech might make her seem dimwitted to someone who was not familiar with her.

The apparent delay in processing does not pass Bassetki by, but she does not suspect or even consider deafness until she hears Towhee speak. It is a laboured process, and she wrongly attributes it to never having heard spoken words – not injury.

Perhaps that was why her words did not land. This poor woman had spent her life stabbing in the conversational dark.

Bassetki tips her nose up, then raises her head a little. Her stark, almost white eyes regard the elder's ember. "Here?" she says, not bothering to disguise the mild horror that leaves a mark in her voice. "Forgive me, Elder, I could not allow roots to take hold here." Then, judging that it might be acceptable to sit upright, she adds, "My name is Bassetki."

If the way she spoke made her appear slow, the opposite could be said of her current company; she said perhaps the smartest thing Towhee had ever heard. Of course, she couldn’t actually hear the woman’s tone, though the incredulous look on her face when she said that single word told Towhee a lot—and made her snort a laugh through her nose.

No forgiveness needed, she assured in her slow, garbled speech. You’re wise, Bassetki. She paused before adding, I’m Towhee. If you don’t live here, what brings you to the area?

Maybe she was part of one of those packs which roamed after prey, though if she was, what was she doing here, asking for fellow hunters? Towhee hadn’t forgotten that original inquiry, though she still didn’t know how to respond. The phrasing made her so curious.

And what do you mean, ‘a man of no account’? she decided to ask outright.

You're wise, Bassetki.

By her own measure, Bassetki will not be wise until her eyes are as blind as her bones are brittle, but presses her chin to her chest in silent thanks - it is an honor that the Elder Mother would think she is anything but a silly child, even at three. "It is the mouth," she says, eyeing the caldera's slopes and knowing from its desert cousin that it gapes like a hungry sand worm. "It eats and eats and hungers still."

"Mother Towhee," Bassetki repeats, then just, "Towhee," because she senses a preference for informal titles. Had the desert wolf known that Towhee not only stood at the root of an entire bloodline, but was also a great and storied warrior, it would have caused her physical pain to exclude the proper honorifics.

"Shame brings me here," Bassetki shares without missing a beat. Her tall, sharp ears sag, and she struggles to keep her face neutral. "I was tempted by a snake and betrayed a sister." The metaphorical snake in question had been a man of some account, but certainly not worth exile. Not even particularly handsome in bright light, Bassetki would one day think, when time in the Teekon Wilds had loosened the chokehold she had on her own thoughts. "I made a mistake. I am sorry to beg you for scraps - for a man of no account, a low man, a servant, to help me hunt." She cannot help it - she bows again. "I could not ask you, Elder Mother. I am not worthy of your energy."

“It is the mouth,” Bassetki said, earning the quirk of one eyebrow, “it eats and eats and hungers still.” Well, that metaphor would stick with her for a while. Towhee said nothing, letting the stranger finish answering her questions.

I don’t have much energy to give, she quipped, though something hardened in her expression in the following seconds. We don’t do servants around here, she went on with a light frown now twisting her mouth as she recounted, Bassetki. Snakes. Servants. Are you from that Akashingo place?

Her eyes strayed to the mesa in the distance. For some reason, she’d been under the impression they’d migrated elsewhere, perhaps further south into the lowlands. Good riddance, she thought, even as her puzzled orange eyes swung back to Bassetki’s face.

We don't have servants around here, followed by a darkening of her expression. Bassetki bows her head low again, and makes a mental note to stop thinking forcing the hierarchy of home onto the wolves she meets here.

"Of course," she says, "Perhaps someone young, eager? It is only to hunt rabbits." She really is hungry.

Mention of Akashingo earns only a frown and a slow shake of her head. "It is not known to me," she answers, following Towhee's gaze south and flinching when both eyes are suddenly back on her. "I travelled east for almost an entire season when I met the salted water." That had been an experience - a burning, awful mouthful to remember.

She denied knowing anything about Akashingo. Towhee went on frowning, though it was more a thoughtful expression than anything. She could easily summon someone to come assist Bassetki, but why would she waste her pack mates’ time on some passerby? She might be interesting—and wise—but Towhee shook her head.

I’d ask if you intend to stick around and join, though it’s pretty clear that’s not in the cards. So I can’t really help you, she said with a nonchalant shrug that wasn’t quite apologetic.

There was nothing stopping Bassetki from calling for assistance, nor would Towhee interfere if another Redhawk wanted to give her a hand. But the Elder took a step backward, telegraphing her intent to wrap this up and head on her way. There was a boring patrol to finish.

Bassetki knows that she is asking for a free meal, and takes no offense when Towhee makes it clear that the she does not run a soup kitchen for the needy. "I understand. It would have been my honor and pleasure to serve at your paw, Elder Mother Towhee," she says, giving the caldera one last look as if to add but not here, in this place.

Towhee takes a step back and the priestess does the same, bowing low with each footfall. "My heart is lighter for having spoken with you," she says; hunt or no hunt. If we do not meet again, I will whisper to your spirit when it returns to wind.