Moonsong Glacier In Berlin

the dance of the northern lights along the sky, faint but present, draws towhee jr's gaze; a pleasant distraction from the borders she diligently and vigilantly patrolled. ghost, her wingman, dips in and out along the river of lights overhead as if joining in their mystical dance.

until, the young peregrine falcon stops.

jr watches as his body language changes, the carefree soaring of his wings turns into harsh flaps. he dives down to her shoulders where he perches, a bit painfully as he grasps onto flesh and fur, and gives a small yank.

he hears something. or someone.

jr is alert; her joyful break over. she follows ghost as he takes off from his brief perch to fly recon overhead, drawing up and steeling her shoulders as the staggering shadow of a man nearing their borders. her lip curls back in a soundless snarl, a low, strange sounding growl rumbling in her throat.

a warning. the best she could muster. and though jr does not hear it, ghost offers his own warning: a shrill cry from above.