Sun Mote Copse pitter patter, let’s get at ‘er.

A shit-eating smirk spread across Clover's lips at the sound of Finley's reply. "NO I'M NOT!" she replied, her cheekiness evident in her hollering."COME ON, MA, I'M WAAAAITING!" Excitement drove Clover onto her paws; she resisted breaking into a run to meet her mother halfway—politeness and etiquette, or some shit like that. Clover's enthusiasm grew tenfold as Finley's silhouette appeared suddenly through the woodwork. She was quick to notice the frailty in her mother's gait; seeing her so weak was unsettling, but she did her best not to gawk.

Once closer, the familiarity of Finley's face quieted Clover's concerns. She hadn't expected to be so elated by the sight of her mother, nor had she expected to be such an emotional pussy, but somehow, tears began to spike at the corner of her eyes. "Awe, Ma," Clover cooed as she squished her face into Finley's embrace. "You remembered my name," brat was a more suiting name for her, " I've been here and there, and all over the fuckin' place, but, nowhere was quite like home." There was some truth to her words—at least she'd be accepted here, unlike those other, shitty packs. 

Pulling away from the embrace with her tail wagging, Clover observed Finley. "I missed you, Ma," she said—the one truth amongst the other fabrications.