Redhawk Caldera What does the future hold?

The lump on her foot had long since scabbed, then shrunk. Now it was just a slightly smaller knot of tough tissue. Towhee went back to paying it no attention whatsoever. The same could be said of her achy hind leg. Although she stayed active—“Motion is lotion,” Towhee often muttered under her breath—taking a break from constant globetrotting had definitely helped matters there.

She missed it. Every time Bushtit came by, she wished she could follow him. But he was grown now, entirely independent, and didn’t need his old mother slowing him down. Besides, Towhee had started to embrace this next phase of life, even though it made her laugh no less than three times a day when she realized she’d ended up back here, of all places.

She’d built herself a makeshift nest in the rear of the Hobbit Hole, where she sprawled now as morning crept over the caldera. Towhee took her time waking up and getting out of bed, compelled mostly by the hunger gnawing at her belly. She padded toward the lair’s entrance, planning to walk up to the dogwood tree and do some “yogurt” to ease the stiffness from her old body before she went out hunting.

But the sight of a black figure just downhill made Towhee pause, the woman’s name springing off her tongue in greeting: Amalia.