Sun Mote Copse i just pulled up to the studio and laid it on the line

He doesn’t remember much about this place, besides its location. Slathered in mud from the neighboring bog to the west, he moseys along the western edge of the copse and tries to conjure more details about his birthplace. Bushtit remembers the den, particularly his favorite old skin tucked in the back. He decides he wants to fetch it.

Scents weave into his nose and he slows his step, blinking a little. Wait, did someone else claim the territory? He doesn’t know why he’s surprised; it’s a great place to set up shop. And it doesn’t belong to his family any longer. But he feels a little put out, realizing his mission to retrieve his baby blanket has been foiled.

Bushtit inhales, then rolls his shoulders. He exhales by way of a low howl, asking for an audience with any of the wolves now in residence.