Sun Mote Copse rancho mirage

His ears pricked as Towhee’s familiar step moved closer. His tail waved, thumping against the damp wooden walls of his hideaway. He froze at the sound, turning his head slightly to better hear it, then sped up his tail experimentally. Skip grinned at the little beat he drummed.

Then his grandmother spoke from nearby, so he faced forward and said, Wha’s a hideout, gamma? Skip mulled the rest of what she’d said and added, It’s mine?