Redhawk Caldera The safety dance.

She pursued him, slowly at first and then picking up speed to match her son’s surprisingly fleet feet. His legs were growing longer and stronger every day, she knew, and she just hoped Bushtit wouldn’t trip over himself. What if history repeated: what if he broke his leg here, like his grandmother, forcing her to stay here and reclaim the caldera? Towhee snorted loudly as she loped after him.

He didn’t fall, though Bushtit halted so suddenly that Towhee nearly barreled right into him. She applied the proverbial brakes too, looking closely at the pup’s face. His pale ears were pricked; he was clearly picking up on some sound. She blinked several times, realizing just how handy it was to have a pair of ears. What a good little familiar, she thought errantly.

What— she began to ask even as his eyes met hers and he motioned, -Someone howled.-

Towhee stepped closer to him, her chest pressing against her young son’s shoulder, and swept the caldera’s foot with her orange eyes. She didn’t see anyone, at first, but then a figure appeared around the curve of the slope. The red fur immediately made her think of the Sveijarn-Cortens—not without a little pang in her chest—but as she squinted, there was no familiarity.

-Stranger danger,- she signed silently. -Stay close to me,- Towhee added.

It was entirely unnecessary. Out of all her children, Bushtit was probably the most easygoing and obedient she’d ever had. He pressed his smaller body against hers, his shoulder pressing into her upper leg and his hip brushing her stifle. Mama’s boy, she thought with utmost fondness as she shot him an approving glance.

The warmth leeched out of her eyes as she then turned them up on the encroaching wolf, Towhee’s expression turning from soft to stony in the space of a heartbeat.