Redhawk Caldera So, I will follow you to Virgie

Hotah caught the boy’s scent on the wind and slowed, muscles settling into a hunter’s stillness. Young. Nervous. Lingering at the edge.

He didn’t turn his head. Didn’t stare.

Instead, his tail lifted in a calm, easy arc—not dominance, not challenge. An invitation!

He angled toward the river mouth, paws quiet against the damp earth, and paused beside the low, muddied bank where a muskrat den cut into the reeds. The water there moved slow and dark, perfect for flushing.

Hotah flicked his tail once more, urging the boy.

He would drive them out.

Fast.

Messy.

The catching would be up to the boy.