Redhawk Caldera Don't be afraid to catch feels

He followed the dark figure dutifully until she located a pile of feces, and he stood by when she bent to inspect it. As many who knew him knew, Nightjar was too lazy to make an effective hunter. What many didn't know about him was that he was too lazy—or found it too mentally taxing, maybe—to properly learn the scent of every animal. He knew the basic ones, but when it came to unknowns or infrequent visitors, Nightjar very easily forgot them.

So when Towhee indicated that she didn't recognize the scent, a metaphorical sweat drop slipped down the side of his face as he inched tentatively forward to sniff at it. As expected, he didn't really recognize it either. There was something vaguely familiar about it, a similarity to mountain cats he had heard yowling on his lone journeys, but it was different too. With a flicker of his good ear, he lifted his head and grimaced. "Dunno," he concluded, "some cat, maybe. Your brother might know."

Phox had done an excellent job manning the caches. Peregrine would be beyond proud. If any wolf on the Caldera might have encountered this smell before, Nightjar would bet on the grey-and-white Redhawk. If not him, then possibly Finley, resident bear wrangler.