Grouse Thicket Sun it rises

The warrior’s tense shoulders sagged with relief. The man who had approached claimed to be too old to seek a fight. Foxfur did not wish to retort that warriors did not play by those rules, they fought when needed, they did not hesitate to lay down their lives.

Many thanks to you, the weary figure said, his rough voice cracking softly with the effort of speech. The boy I seek is dark and nimble with golden eyes. He will answer to the name Crowfeather. This information, Foxfur knew, would likely leave his lips a dozen or more times.

The boy’s scent had been there. The seer was in those wilds somewhere.