Storm Watch Butte A little party never killed nobody.

When they neared the basin, Soto tossed back his head. Towhee couldn’t hear the howl that poured forth from his muzzle, though she knew exactly what that motion meant. Her eyes eagerly scanned their surroundings as the ground became harder underfoot, missing Soto’s signal. It wasn’t until she bumped into him that she realized he’d slowed.

My bad, she muttered, backing off him with a twinge of reluctance.

She said nothing else—why brother?—but looked at their guide closely before exchanging a glance with Bushtit. They shadowed Soto’s steps as he began to mount a sort of natural staircase, which led them to what seemed to be a lookout point. Towhee stopped and took in the views, orange eyes still seeking Tierra’s familiar figure.

Something nudged her and Towhee’s eyes dropped to her son’s face. He motioned at Soto, who was trying to show and/or tell them something. She watched as he put a paw on a pelt, quite clearly wanting to show it to her. Face contorting, she stepped nearer and sniffed at it, picking up scanty traces of Tierra’s scent.

Where is she? Towhee demanded, patience thinning and frustration thickening. Can’t you at least call someone else out here to translate for us? she tacked on with a tetchy jerk of a foreleg.

She knew the futility of asking that question even as the words left her lips. Towhee bit back the urge to scream and instead poured that energy into a dissonant howl demanding to know if there was anyone bilingual in earshot.