Golden Glade savin' all your food stamps and burnin' down the trailer park

Wrapped up in his cozy little fam-bam, Phox hardly made time for anything else. No, he was much too busy corralling his four growing children and making sure they were hitting all the appropriate milestones. On top of that, he was doing his usual hunting duties and generally trying to keep himself integrated with everything. As usual, things in the summer were easier and slower, in a way. Prey was easier to find, the children were able to be left alone for longer amounts of time, and Phox found himself with some leisure time here and there.

Presently, he was casting his usual roaming net a bit further, and he found himself in Golden Glade. Had this been the place that he had run into Rannoch last year? Where Raven had bastardized their name into "Frosthawks"? He still wasn't happy with the name, although he couldn't be too mad at Raven, considering she'd nursed him back to health after his fall from the landslide.

A flash of golden fur caught his attention, and Phox wondered what Niamh was doing out here as well, but he quickly realized (with a sniff of the air) that it wasn't her. Nope, it was Pippin. Boy, their conversation hadn't gone super well last time they'd talked... at least from what Phox could remember. He hadn't really seen Pippin around much, so he'd assumed that he'd heck'd out of the Firebirds.

Hey, Pippin. What brings you out here? he asked. His posture was friendly, and Phox's white-tipped tail waved lazily back and forth.