Lion Head Mesa Empty rooms are honest places

The golden furred beauty showed him the way to where Crowfeather rested. Supposedly, he had been resting a long while, his injuries great and crippling. That seemed horrific to the toy breed, who'd be taken to the veterinary at the slightest sign of uncharacteristic weakness. Now he understood what importance there was in the task the queen gave him.

Gucci padded down the hallways of this beautiful structure (he still firmly believed it manmade) peeking into every chamber he passed. Eventually, his bat ears and small, fuzzy face poked into the room where a great dark dog was sprawled over furs. Pungency of herbs clued him in to his status as patient. This must be his charge.

Fuzzy tail flagging, dog tag tinkling, the chihuahua entered the room with a light step.

"G'evenin'! Y' must be Crowfeather, or ahm ah wrong?" He said with a smile upon his tiny muzzle.