Redhawk Caldera ✧

As the day wore on, scattered clouds began to appear overhead. Towhee couldn’t hear the thunder rumbling in the distance, though she could smell the tang of ozone in the air. When the breeze kicked up a little—providing some much-needed relief from the August afternoon heat—she tipped her head skyward and closed her eyes to enjoy it.

When nature inevitably called, Towhee rolled onto all fours and made use of her full bladder to mark at strategic points along the nearby borderline. She had strayed a few hundred yards when the increasingly tempestuous breeze carried to her a wolf’s scent tinged with the odor of a fresh kill. She rose from her squat and pivoted, loping to meet Hotah.

So he can hunt, she quipped when her orange eyes took in the carcass he’d carried, and the proof is in the pudding… or the marmot. She came to a stop before him. That’s so crazy, because one marmot is the exact price of admission here.

Towhee cracked a smile for the first time since making his acquaintance. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, which remained speculative. He had mentioned their prosperity, a detail easily picked up by anyone with a good nose. Hotah wasn’t wrong about that; they were doing fairly well for themselves despite the recent hiccup. But as far as Towhee knew, that was all he knew. He probably didn’t even know the pack’s name.

Before I show you the way to the nearest cache, I’d like to ask you something. I assume you lived in a pack before you turned up here. What made you leave it?