Blackfeather Woods and she was a war zone of a woman

with his mother's arrival at the caldera, tzar has started to take liberties. towhee jr had never been one to stifle his need to wander when he'd came to an age he could do so relatively safely. when she stopped fearing some beastie would snatch him from her. tzar struggles to understand it, because he is a teenager. not a father, having not experienced the loss of children. still, he tries his best to be empathetic ... until he isn't.

he hadn't asked to venture outside of the caldera.

instead, he'd risen in the quick of night and slipped from the hobbit hole with ghost perched upon his shoulder — ever towhee jr's trustful envoy — and pushed north.

north. his destination, if he could find his way, bearclaw valley. the obsession, to see for himself what he and his mother had fled from has plagued him since they'd taken refuge in frosthawks.

when they approach the shadowed woods of blackfeather, ghost lets out a low thrill, the soft whistling noise causing tzar's ear to twitch as his steps pause. yeah, doesn't look inviting, does it? tzar asks the falcon, letting out a low hum. but youthful arrogance — and the comforting prick of pain as ghost settles at his favored spot at the junction of tzar's shoulders — pushes tzar forward, into the shadows that greedily wrap the crownore princeling and avian in it's embrace.