Sun Mote Copse Record scratch, freeze frame.

Truer words had never been spoken, in Towhee's experience. It was kind of nice, being back on the same page as Niamh. It had been a while. Apparently something had gotten a bit lost in translation, though, because her friend wondered if she was thinking of moving here.

Suppressing the internal oh hell no, Towhee shook her head. "We'd just cramp your Slobbervein's style," she quipped, purposely butchering Colt's title. "And, I mean, real talk: I don't think there's any room at the inn. There're like four hundred and sixty-two pups living here already."

Jokes aside, she shook her head again. "No, the plan is for Phox, the kids and me to spin off and do our own thing." Towhee paused for a beat. "Fuckin' nuts, huh?"