Redhawk Caldera Who knows how to use a flamethrower?

Towhee itched, literally and metaphorically. Her wounds were healing, the scabbing flesh flaking because of the dry winter air. @Raven put a salve on them at night. It helped, although it didn't entirely alleviate the problem. And the inner itching was even worse. She was down for the count, unable to patrol or do anything useful at all. She was bored and restless to the point of aggravation.

Because of her current futility, she typically sent X to scour the borders at least twice a day. To his credit, the hawk did as he was told. So far, he hadn't come back with any news, though as the mercenary bent down to nip at a festering crust on one of her forelegs, she noticed the raptor's approach. She straightened, shifting uncomfortably as he swooped to land in front of her.

"Someone's at the borders?" she guessed as soon as he'd folded his wings. X bobbed his head, "Yes." Towhee's ears folded backward as she considered a moment, then muttered, "Fuck it," and rose onto all fours. Her various injures certainly ached, pinched and stung, yet the yearling nonetheless began making her way downhill, following X's shadow as he guided her.

But by the time they arrived, the borders were empty. X wound downward again and perched in a nearby tree. Towhee looked at him and he appeared to shrug apologetically. The guardian sighed, then squinted around a moment. She then dropped her muzzle toward the snow and sniffed at the trail of paw prints leading away from the caldera, filing away the (honestly useless) information even as she contemplated what to do now.