Ouroboros Spine My night with the prostitute from Marseille.

Towhee remembered herself the instant Bushtit’s eyes flew somewhere behind them, clearly reacting to some auditory cue she couldn’t possibly detect. In one swift movement, she pivoted to face the stranger emerging from the shrubbery and sidestepped to block the view of her child.

Her orange eyes bored into the unfamiliar wolf, noting his cautious approach even as she assessed his size and strength. He wore a palette of earth and stone, the blend rather striking along his withers, but Towhee didn’t allow herself to get distracted. Her gaze cut back to his face, yellow eyes set into stout features.

She glanced briefly at the top of Bushtit’s head—he remained sprawled on the ground, body loosely curling around her nearer foreleg—and then back to the man. Towhee’s tail switched, then she nodded.

He’s gonna be fine, she said more to herself than to him. We’re here to visit, she told him in the next breath, assuming you’re from Moonglow?