Sun Mote Copse Werewolf woods wailings.

Catching Phox’s scent on the air was like applying a balm directly to Towhee’s chafed heart. She turned to scan for his familiar face, drawing in a deep breath as she saw him approaching on her right. She stopped moving to let him catch up with her, heart lighter but sinking fast when Towhee realized she would have to convey the bad news yet again.

Yeah, it’s really poetic or something, Towhee quipped, wishing she could smile. She tried, though her face quickly fell, quite likely alerting her brother to something amiss before she even had the chance to choke out, Phox… it’s Caracal.