Firefly Glen (M) No room for a saint.

Yours? Towhee thought, though she figured Rodyn would’ve said “my son” rather than “a boy” in that case. That thought pulled her lips into a thoughtful frown. He’d been a good dad, though as far as she knew, he’d never had any more kids after Rolayne and Panuk. He hadn’t taken a mate since Samani, either, though Towhee more than understood that part.

Whose boy? she queried. After giving him space to answer, she mused, Kids are such a pain sometimes… but they really make life worth it.

It was probably a bit on the nose, though the sentiment was entirely genuine. Towhee lived for her children—and their children, and their children. Her lip twitched as she thought of Killdeer, so glad he’d turned up after very nearly scaring her to death. Maybe “scare” wasn’t the right word. She’d been bereft beyond description.

It was a little surprising that her body would deem her ready to carry offspring after nearly expiring what felt like a short time ago. Towhee shifted her weight as that thought crossed her mind, though she wasn’t in the head space to entertain it very long… especially not when the September wind shifted and brought to her nose the unmistakable scent of a fresh marmot.

The aging Redhawk tensed, turning her head to squint into the shadows of the glen.