Heron Lake Plateau not looking for a confession

Owen gave a little half-shrug of one red-and-brown shoulder. Then he took a quick furtive look back over that selfsame shoulder, scanning the landscape there before putting his paw back down again. Dunno just what it was that lit a fire under Phoebe's tail, then, he muttered mostly to himself as he turned back towards Phox. Then, more audibly: ...And yeah, no, she's off somewhere else... probably in her garden or something, I'm guessing? We don't really spend a whole lot of time very near the den anymore. Which was kind of a shame...Owen sorta missed those days, still. Everything seemed like it had been a whole lot simpler and safer then, at least; now, with random new faces some of which couldn't be trusted, and the new pack splintering off and taking some of his most favoritest old faces, and monsters lurking in the maybe-maybe-not iced-over lake...Owen really wasn't sure what to make of the world anymore, some days.

But at least the dastardly grasshoppers seemed to have disappeared for the winter, on the upside. How come you're looking for her? Owen squinched up his face in a moment of considering thought as he tilted his overlarge ears a little. Dad's still the only alpha right now, ain't he? An' Aunt Towhee unner 'im? He couldn't think of much else that seemed likely to have sent Phox hunting for Raven, off the top of his head. Though Owen thought he'd've heard if the ranks got scrambled up again...who knew, though; thoughtless grownups often didn't bother to tell the younger generations everything, regardless of whether or not it might affect them. And frankly Quixote himself seemed like he was very definitely one of those oft-thoughtless types of grownups, in Owen's book.