Sun Mote Copse she's been living on the highest shelf

“Maybe I’ll try to make a handbook,” he mused, knowing that would be impossible. Towhee was as predictable as the weather. Maybe some had the talent for doing so—but he wasn’t an astrologer or a skywatcher, and likewise, he wasn’t exactly great at reading others.

Or, at least he didn’t think so.

Instead, his brows arched, not realizing previously that the Firebirds were so intricately connected. “So, everyone here is basically family?”

His own thoughts didn’t have a chance to drift to Lost Creek Hollow or his own lost family—Wraen keenly directed them there, and he felt the usual tension of the questions settle to his shoulders, considering exactly what to reveal.

“I’m from… Nowhere, really. Here and there. A drifter?” He paused, knowing that the answer wouldn’t satisfy her. “I was born in a pack called Lost Creek Hollow. There was a famine, and the pack broke apart. Eventually, I ended up separated from my family. I've wandered ever since.”