Redsand Canyon Denimclad baboons.

Towhee rarely thought about all the things she couldn’t hear, having never possessed the sense in order to miss it. All the same, she found herself wishing she could properly hear her husband’s (ugh, lol) and children’s banter. There was no way she could conceptualize the sound of laughter, but she imagined it was like the sun breaking through clouds.

That thought was entirely too poetic given the setting. Towhee snorted and took a seat, throwing a foreleg around Leo’s shoulders when her daughter bumped up against her and plopped wetly on the dry ground. The elder Redhawk bent to lick the wet fur between her daughter’s ears, swirling her tongue to give Leo a bit of a mohawk.

We should give this place a name, she said to nobody in particular, gesturing toward the water. It kinda reminds me of the caldera, only on a miniature level. That’s where I was born and where I lived a lot of my life, Towhee explained to the kids, if they were listening. We could call it Mini Redhawk Caldera? Or Redhawk Caldera, Jr? Or maybe Redhawk Caldera the Remix?