Emberwood hellbender

Phox had rarely heard anybody else parrot his particular greeting, and he half-wondered if he was being made fun of in that moment by some kid who thought he was too old to know better. He brushed the thought aside, not wishing to jump to any conclusions. It just wasn't his style. The question was not only a question, but an admission of what the stranger had been doing when they had come across Phox. Despite their scent, something about their voice made Phox question their sex. In some ways, their voice reminded him faintly of Towhee.

'Fraid I can't hunt like I used to, he admitted. I usually just pick up the scraps, then gorge myself whenever I happen by a generous pack with extra to spare. The latter tended to be wherever his kids had settled down. Or when a pack happened to be less than on top of their caches and he could sneak a rabbit from them. He wasn't opposed to such thievery if it meant another few weeks of survival. Besides, any pack who wasn't doing great about monitoring their caches needed a reminder every now and again. Name's Phox Redhawk.