Deepwood Weald A bar song (tipsy).

She took a seat, one forepaw coming up to idly smooth the fur on her chest as a contemplative expression took hold of her face. Towhee supposed she could call someone to clarify what was going on here, though it wasn’t really that pressing. She wasn’t trying to go any further today.

But she was curious, so when Dutch materialized, her eyes burned brightly on his face. They darkened a little at his question, her face contorting slightly. Her mind flashed back to the day when she’d thought she’d miscarried in front of him, then to another and much worse experience a few weeks later. Certainly he wasn’t asking about that.

-“I… don’t follow,”- she admitted, right before a proverbial light bulb clicked on over her head. -“Do you mean Jr?”- Towhee paused long enough for affirmation before adding, -“She’s been living in the copse this whole time. It’s that way, in case you want to go shout at her. I don’t know if it’ll do much good,”- she quipped, -“but it might make you feel better.”-

She smirked good-naturedly. Towhee was actually exceptionally grateful for her youngest’s presence at the copse, though she couldn’t fault Dutch for any resentment he felt about Jr’s behavior.

-“Anyhow, it’s good to see you, although I wasn’t expecting to see you here. What gives?”- she asked conversationally.