Storm Watch Butte A little party never killed nobody.

the trio carved a westward path through the cold footing. soto turned once or twice to ensure they were following; confident in their ability to match pace, his stride opened up as they came to the basin. 

he sent one howl skyward, the thinness of the air absorbing the sound with greedy silence. 

they were upon the stone quarter in short order. as the lookout point loomed into stony view soto slowed his steps, motioning for towhee and her young charge to follow close. 

they climbed the shale steps that wound lookout’s face, and came upon a flattened segment of ground used as their guard station. along one grey wall were peltskins, soto’s easily distinguishable from the bunch by the still-fresh scent of his body sleeping upon them that morning. but sangre’s, a collection of far lovelier deerskin pelts soto had carefully segmented himself, was all but faded in scent. 

he placed a paw upon the skin and nudged it towards the amazon, single eye dark with worry.