Redtail Rise Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque

When Redd appeared amenable to tracking, Masque swallowed thickly. She couldn’t decide if she was more excited or nervous, though the sound of a trio of birds winging by overhead sent her crouching for a moment. She was definitely more skittish than anything else, though she tried to tamp down the nerves as she righted herself and tailed closely after her sister.

They were quiet enough that she could pinpoint the sound of footfalls ahead, the slow cadence of eight hooves moving through dry grass and leaves. Masquerade focused on that noise, soon ascertaining the difference in the two sets of footsteps. The calf’s were more frequent and a little noisier. The mother’s fell heavier and more muffled, as if her weight sank through the detritus on the forest floor and into the dense earth underneath. Or perhaps she was simply more careful than her offspring.

The Bearn paid such close attention to the variance, she forgot to be nervous. She was still quite cautious, hanging back a bit whenever she sensed the sounds were coming from just ahead. But the rhythm of the exercise settled her, especially when paired with the familiarity of practicing stealth. If there was one thing which came naturally to Masquerade, it was pussyfooting.