Heron Lake Plateau Glam, glitz, guts and gore.

The frown turned into a downright scowl when Towhee noticed a skinny black figure making its way toward the plateau's foot. With a growl rumbling deep in her throat, the she-wolf hastened to intercept the interloper. The rolling noise cut off sharply when he collapsed well before she could reach him.

She slowed as she approached, sniffing the wet air for any sign of illness. When his soaking wet scent filled her nose, she didn't detect any malaise, though the familiarity of it made Towhee freeze suddenly. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, in the space of a second.

I should put you out of your misery, was the first bitter thought that crossed her mind. Yet as she stood there, looking down at his emaciated frame and observing his struggle, her orange eyes trailed to the white tip of his tail. And just like that, a sense of pity pierced through her, followed by a strong wave of nostalgia and a touch of grief as she couldn't help but think of their shared childhood, of tiny Orca and Titmouse too.

"Stay here, you piece of shit coward," Towhee said lowly, turning away and quickly fetching a piece of cold meat from a nearby cache. By the time she returned to stand over the decrepit Phox—her last surviving litter mate—her feelings were mixing enough to prompt Towhee to drop the carcass unceremoniously on his head.