Redhawk Caldera ...and then everything goes screaming off the rails and it's our asses.

When she felt her uncle's tender lick to her forehead, Towhee recoiled. Although she actually appreciated the comforting gesture more than she could say, she was painfully aware of how weak she must look right now. She hated feeling vulnerable, especially in front of two—make that three, as Fiadh approached—witnesses. Shame burning her face, the Gamma turned it away from the gathering crowd and pushed herself shakily to an upright position.

"I'm not sad," she mumbled defensively to Elwood, her low voice making her words even more difficult to understand than usual, "I'm fucking furious." She felt as if someone was squeezing her throat, so she paused and gulped a deep breath before explaining, "Uncle Elwood, I don't think they have Phox. I'm pretty sure he ran out on us like a little bitch." It stung her to use those words once again, yet nothing was more agonizing than realizing her litter mate had deserted the pack without a word during its time of need. And he hadn't only evacuated his birthplace, he had utterly abandoned Towhee.

She sniffed and glanced at Colt and Fiadh, though she turned away quickly, embarrassed. Not looking at anyone directly, she tried to explain, "X came back. He thinks he saw Phox running off to the west. He isn't sure, but..." But, deep down, she sensed the truth. Phox had ripped her soul in two, after all, when he'd turned his back on them all.