Redhawk Caldera Caution ahead.

Quick cameo.

Hotah arrived through the mist with a fish swinging from his jaws, the rain beading across his shoulders and dripping from his muzzle. The air smelled of wet earth and pine, and of Towhee’s scent threaded faintly through it — the scent of home.
He carried more than just the trout; slung carefully across his back were a few pale mushrooms he’d unearthed from a birch hollow on the way. He wasn’t entirely sure if they were the kind she’d meant, but he figured she’d know better than him.
Your royal feast, he announced with a crooked grin, voice rough with humor as he laid the fish before her. Nearly wrestled a heron for it, so I expect full gratitude.
He nudged the mushrooms next, brow quirking. Can’t promise these won’t make you see stars, though. You’ll have to test that for me.
For a moment, he lingered—watching her, the curve of her belly, the steadiness still in her movements despite it. There was fondness there, hidden beneath the teasing smirk. Then he straightened, tail flicking once.
I’ll bring more by nightfall, he said simply, stepping back into the rain. Don’t eat the glowing ones without me.
And with that, the dark wolf slipped away into the drizzle, his silhouette swallowed by the quiet gray of the caldera.