Sun Mote Copse Record scratch, freeze frame.

Some things were afoot in Redhawks, to put it mildly, though Towhee set them aside entirely today as she snatched a deer leg from the cache nearest the eastern borders and began trudging across the way to the Firebirds' claim. Wildfire had died and now Colt was in charge. The mercenary snorted around the meat in her mouth. But speaking of him, a little bird had told her that Niamh had given birth to a litter. Towhee idly wondered if they had more youths than adults over there; she was pretty sure they did. She snorted again.

Wondering whether her friend would be able to come at her call—and knowing it was possible, even likely, that her husband would show up instead—Towhee dropped the leg and drew in a breath. She then howled for @Niamh. She had a long overdue visit to pay, plus she wanted to congratulate her on her litter, even if was bittersweet for Towhee. There was also the matter of condolences for Wildfire. The mercenary sighed, shifting her weight and starting at a familiar shadow gliding overhead.