Grouse Thicket I am not throwing away my shot

The world fell silent, save for the rustle of grouse and the snap of the twisted tanglewood as Tuathal pushed his way through the dense undergrowth of apple trees and bushes. He didn't really care about keeping his cover, and even if he did, that was stupidly impossible with the way the branches contorted in a wild twist to barricade him in the air and on the ground. Sharp tines snagged his fur, and branches cut him more than once - but his pain hardly slowed him. He hardly felt it at all. The burn in his shoulders and blood along his brow were inconsequential next to finding Ceara, and Tuathal simply kept moving on.

When Niamh's call rushed out again, his ears turned and his body followed, crashing diagonal from the line he'd been cutting forward. She was closer now, but much further east than what he'd set himself toward, and Tuathal met her with a desperate shout - in part to herald Niamh toward him (there was really only so much bush-whacking a guy could take), and in part to stop her from moving further away.