Redhawk Caldera Acting like we'd live forever

When he lifted his head again, droplets beaded along his chin and caught the sunlight like glass. A shift in the air—light, careful—drew his gaze across the water’s edge.

There, between the reeds and the birches, stood a wolf he did not recognize. Yet the likeness struck him—something about the slope of her muzzle, the flint in her gaze. Towhee, and yet not.

Hotah blinked, the faint crease at his eye deepening with that easy, disarming half-smile.

Well, he murmured, voice low and warm, either I’ve been working too long without sleep… or God has taken to playing tricks.

He set the deer leg aside, shifting his weight with a quiet ease that betrayed neither threat nor haste. Didn’t mean to startle you, he added, tilting his head in polite acknowledgment. You’ve got the look of her. Towhee. A daughter?

The tone was inviting—curious without intrusion, his posture open, as though he knew well when to press and when to simply listen.