Redtail Rise slate

The drizzly gray sky contrasted beautifully with the autumn splendor flaring across the rise. Colorful leaves swirled in the air, the damp breeze scented with sweet rot. Masquerade took it all in as they skulked along the borderline, freshly returned from a successful hunt near the neighboring ridge. A dead marmot swung from their jaws.

A haunting howl rose on the blustery air, causing Masque to go very still. The carcass nearly slipped from their mouth, though they clenched their jaw all the tighter as they abruptly broke into a sprint. They didn’t actually believe it could be Redd until they saw her figure—disheveled, skinny, but unmistakable—in the distance ahead.

Whining around their mouthful, they galloped to close the distance. When they reached Redd, Masque unceremoniously dropped the marmot and stumbled toward their litter mate. They thrust their ruddy snout against her neck, huffing little whimpering breaths as they drew in her familiar scent.