Whitefish River synthwave goose

His mind wandered back to Towhee as he pawed at his ear. When she’d realized who was standing on the borders, she’d practically launched at him. Caracal laughed presently, thinking back on it. He’d welcomed her bear hug, clicking his tongue when she’d demanded to know her grandson’s location. Why hadn’t he brought Killdeer with him, she’d demanded to know. “What, am I not enough for you, ma?” he’d teased.

Before he could rehash any more of their conversation, movement caught Caracal’s eye. He slowly put his foot back down on the ground, spine stiffening as he sat up straighter. A jet black figure encroached along the riverside, streaks of russet in her fur matching her dark ocher eyes. Even from a distance, he could see the faint markings on her face, including the literal earmarks of a fighter.

Especially since he’d taken up traveling, Caracal had never met a stranger. Heya! he called out to the skulking woman coming his way. You know, you look a lot like my Aunt Raven, he remarked, as conversationally as you please, and, well, like a bunch of my relatives, come to think of it.