Redhawk Caldera No, I don't have a harp.

Her reception was anything but warm, and Nightjar curled his lips and pressed his ears sharply forward with a verbal warning: "watch it." Towhee may have been a mercenary just like him and he respected her for it, but he was her superior in rank and age and he wasn't about to tolerate the disrespect just because she was his sister. Nightjar fully believed he could flatten her if he wanted to, but he didn't overly want to. He remained seated even as she calmed down and bid him a question, and only then did his ears relent their rigidity.

"Didn't mean to come," he said simply, "but no harm keeping watch for a while." He curled his tail around his haunches and cast his gaze in the direction of the den, but he remained wary of Towhee; he hadn't expected that response from her and wasn't sure whether he should be on guard or not. "You think they'll be strong?" he wondered aloud, and a perceptive one might catch the hint of doubt in his voice that stemmed from having known only the Blackthorn wolves' first child.