Bramblepoint caught herself a somewhere wind

Calling Soto fat, are we?

he lands without ceremony, his partner’s encouraging yip reverberating in his ears. no luck; he’s too dang muscular (read: fat). as he searches around them for an answer to their quandary, his hunting partner does something extraordinary — she’s far more limber and petite as she scales up the tree, but it ends with her nose bashing the branch above. 

he shares a brief look (sympathy?  bemusement? who can tell - the man’s got only one eye) before turning back to the flapping bird above. 

his ear turns as he hears his partner say something. was she play bowing? now was not the time for play — soto’s expression scrunches up, until he realizes. 

while he’d prefer it was he climbing atop of her, he obliges. positioning himself just adjacent the tree and their quarry, soto braces for impact.