Heron Lake Plateau Operation black light.

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Right after whatever might have transpired in her immediately previous thread, Towhee conked out for another long nap, then awoke in the dark, thirsty as hell—like, for actual water. She followed her nose and drank long and deep in the stream that forked between the neighboring swamp and the copse. Thinking about the latter made her wonder if she should head home. But nearly every fiber in her hormone-drenched body recoiled at the thought, if only because she was related to just about every dude in the pack. She still had an itch to scratch and she wasn't about to get jiggy with a relative, no matter how crazy her heat made her. That went against her basest instincts.

Instead, she doubled back through the thicket and began climbing the old, familiar ramp up to Heron Lake Plateau, willfully ignoring the telltale rumble in her stomach. She only had time to feed one appetite right now. Once she reached the top, she didn't go any further. Towhee wouldn't be visiting Orca's and X's graves in this state, nor reminiscing about her old stomping grounds. She gave these things only the most fleeting of thoughts before she tipped her snout toward the distant sliver of moon, her howl the auditory equivalent of shooting a flare gun into the night sky. It was a distress signal, begging someone to come up here and fuck her.