Flycatcher Downs a stunning dress of hellfire

he sniffs at her in return, and towhee would be remiss to disallow it, seeing as he allowed her to ghost nearer to draw in his scents. still, there was little to gleam from her own. she'd been dispersal long enough that nothing of sun mote copse — scattered to the winds anyway — remained.

alone? his question lingers between them, read on his lips by towhee who nods solemnly after a moment.

alone. her body language echoes.

alone. dangerous given they were in the clutches of winter. dangerous because despite her winged companion her deafness put her at a heightened risk. and though towhee jr was a spitfire, would never go down without putting up one hell of a fight ... she recognizes that she is not, currently, in a good situation.

she was vulnerable; always. worse yet without the support of a pack should she run into trouble.