Sun Mote Copse Whiskey river

Her lip twitched at the nickname. Poor Finley didn't have the most flattering nicknames (Frog and Flea, c'mon!). She could hear the fondness in Colt's voice. They'd kicked around together as youths, then reunited recently, by the sound of it.

"Since the day I was born," Wildfire replied. "She's my aunt and my godmother. My parents died when I was about two, so she didn't have to step in as the latter until my youngest siblings were born. But she's always been a mother figure, all the same, especially now that mom's gone.

Speaking of which," she said in the next breath, gesturing at the tangle of roots above the den's mouth, "there're some niches in there that might make good whelping dens. I'm hoping Aunt Flea will come here and use one. Think she'll have another batch?"