Bramblepoint Soundwaves of shimmering sands

Phox had managed to catch that pesky muskrat earlier, and it had been a good start to the day. His feet led him north toward another one of his favorite hunting grounds: Bramblepoint. The brush was thick with thorny, berry-filled plants, although the trees were no longer fruiting this late in the year. Phox was not particularly concerned about either of those things. No, his mind was very much elsewhere. He was currently tracking down a rabbit warren. Lo and behold, it led him right to a friendly face.

Well, I'll be. If it isn't the Sovereign herself! he chirped. Wraen did not, of course, hold that title officially any longer, but he couldn't help but use it. That was how he had known her for most of the time they'd spent together. How's the traveling life going? he asked. Normally one nose-down in his work, he couldn't help but stop and chat with an old comrade.