Sun Mote Copse Everybody hates Monday mornings.

She felt more than a little conflicted when Arcturus immediately submitted, not because she felt badly (hell, no; she would never apologize for protecting her young) but because the instinctual signaling compelled her to accept his presence. Decidedly torn, she sheathed her fangs but remained very stiff, fur prickling, wary and mistrustful. Then she saw him take notice of her offspring and she couldn't help it; her teeth made another appearance.

"She's not yours," Towhee growled. She couldn't know that for a fact, of course. She suspected Pippin was the father, based solely on appearances. But the truth of the matter was she refused to share Meerkat with any of her would-be sires. Phox was her father, full stop, and if Arcturus, Pippin or anyone else dared to stake some sort of claim on her little miracle, Towhee would show them what for.

Unseen by her mother (whose eyes remained riveted on their swarthy guest), Meerkat finally righted her head. Her smile broadened, her tongue emerging. Leaning her weight on her left foreleg, she lifted her right in the air and waved it at him, mimicking the movements the adults often made in front of her.