Luneshale Pass It’s time to kill the lights and shut the DJ down.

While her two youngest children fretted about her many miles to the east, Towhee sidled along the stream winding from Serpent Lake down into the lowlands. She shuffled more than walked, pausing frequently to dip her leg into the icy water for some relief. She occasionally worried about her continued deterioration, though mostly Towhee wondered about Bushtit’s whereabouts.

She finally approached the edge of Luneshale Pass, where the stream trickled down to nearly nothing. Towhee rolled to a stop with a sigh. She wanted to sink to the ground, curl into a ball and sleep until spring. Maybe she would do that, just as soon as she made sure her son was alright.

Hell, she said to no one, taking a single step and catching @Soto’s scent. Maybe I’m ready for my dirt nap.

She meant it as a joke, she thought. But as she pondered the merits of calling out for either the Segundo or their crotch fruit, Towhee realized there was something peaceful about that thought. And that thought prompted a loud laugh that sounded more hysterical than mirthful.