Sly Fox Sand Dunes you dj, i’ll drive

He doesn’t stay at the caldera long. He only sticks around long enough to tell Towhee about his discovery—Bearclaw Valley is a ghost town, with Jr and her family in the wind—and hear about the latest batch of Redhawks. He also confirms that his madre doesn’t look pregnant. He’s selfishly relieved, though he can’t really pinpoint why, nor does he dwell on it long.

He considers hitting the coast, though something compels him right back east to his sister’s abandoned home. There’s no trace of them as he strides along the edges of the valley. Whatever happened to them must’ve happened weeks or even months ago. There’s not a footprint or a scent trail to be found. This time, he actually ventures inward.

The yearling comes across a pile of rubble where the valley wall must’ve collapsed. Could this be the reason the pack left? He could see why they wouldn’t want young puppies around such a hazard. Bushtit sniffs around the wreckage, the fur along his spine prickling when he definitely gets a whiff of death and decay.

He backpedals swiftly, blinking as the implication hits him. Bushtit sucks in a breath, then whirls and hastily leaves the valley. He doesn’t want to know who died here, who’s even now beneath the rocks. But he has a very bad feeling that his older sister must be among them, otherwise @Towhee Jr would’ve come found her family after tragedy struck.

Bushtit refuses to take this news back to his mother. Instead, he numbly wanders south. He makes it as far as the dunes before stopping, looking toward Verapaz from his perch at the crest of one sandy hillock. The summer wind tugs at his fur, blowing grains of sand into his eyes. He blames them for the tears that gather and well, scorching his pale cheeks.