Heron Lake Plateau she's tore up plenty, but she'll fly true

What struck Towhee like a slap wasn't Finley's abrupt resignation or even her departure, it was the fact that she didn't acknowledge, much less accept, her goddaughter's sincere apology. That lodged a lump right in the yearling's throat. She tried to swallow several times as her orange eyes watched Finley's figure recede into the distance. There was, of course, the fleeting and almost irresistible impulse to go after her and make things right. But Towhee stood stock still.

This was right. Although Finley's reaction hurt her, Towhee knew it in her bones. Slowly, she turned to Raven. "Don't worry about her. I'll take care of it," she said, her lip giving another wobble. She bit it to keep it still. "You deserve this honor. And this isn't—ideal—whatever," Towhee continued, struggling to find her words, "but I'm really happy for you and Quixote and your future puppies. This is a celebratory moment, damn it, and now it's about you, not me."

Usually it was Finley's arms she rushed into during emotional moments like this. But Finley had walked away from Towhee. She moved deliberately toward Raven instead, pressing her forehead against her sister's neck and then sliding her muzzle to bump it gently beneath the caregiver's chin to concede her new status.

"I'll be right here to support you," she breathed against the new Alpha's neck, knowing the inference didn't need to be spoken. If Finley was really going to vacate her second-in-command position, Towhee would step into it in her stead so that Raven wasn't left hanging.