Redhawk Caldera The safety dance.

He frowned, as if he didn’t like her answer. Towhee’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t move otherwise, her gaze eating into his face as he fielded her query in a not particularly satisfactory way. But it was only when he tried to glance at her son that she made her agitation known via a low growl.

He wants you to bring her to him, she parroted, and you have no idea why? She paused, then scoffed, Do you realize how that sounds? In case he didn’t, Towhee elaborated, You’re saying you want this woman to drop everything to heed some rando’s summons? For no reason?

If not for Bushtit’s presence, she might’ve found the situation entertaining in its mystery. But Towhee was not in the mood. She thought about growling again, though the sensation of her child slinking underneath her to park between the cage of her forelegs stifled her. Towhee lowered her head, partly just to touch his own, but also to continue blocking him from view.

Her eyes, meanwhile, never left the stranger. She caught the brief description and pulled a face. It was meaningless to her. He didn’t even bother with an eye color. Anyway, she was pretty sure this guy had the wrong guy, so to speak. He was probably looking for Jr. On that note, Towhee had no plans to make it any easier for this wannabe PI.

Don’t know him, she repeated dismissively.