Redhawk Caldera So, I will follow you to Virgie

Hotah slipped away from the caldera at a steady lope, leaving the noise of the dens behind him. He lowered his head as soon as the ground opened into brush and frost-bitten grass, scenting for the small, quick lives that hid there—rabbit, vole, grouse tucked low.

It wasn’t about glory or weight today. Just movement. Just something to bring back warm.

He angled into the wind and followed the first clean trail he found, quiet and intent, letting the hunt narrow his thoughts to something simple and manageable.

it seemed all which his father had taught him, falk had been eager to toss to the wind as of late.

interacting with stranger wolves had turned into towing the line of venturing into pack territory. here, his nose presses into the flavors of the wind. his rangy limbs carry him along the outer edge of the caldera.

he follows a very specific trail left behind by a dauntingly familiar scent, but one he couldn't sort out. he assumed one he had caught in passing before and thought it comforting enough to remember.

but falcon halts just shy of the borders, tail tucking nervously amongst his hocks. peering with those warm amber eyes he dons, tokens taken from his late mother.

Hotah caught the boy’s scent on the wind and slowed, muscles settling into a hunter’s stillness. Young. Nervous. Lingering at the edge.

He didn’t turn his head. Didn’t stare.

Instead, his tail lifted in a calm, easy arc—not dominance, not challenge. An invitation!

He angled toward the river mouth, paws quiet against the damp earth, and paused beside the low, muddied bank where a muskrat den cut into the reeds. The water there moved slow and dark, perfect for flushing.

Hotah flicked his tail once more, urging the boy.

He would drive them out.

Fast.

Messy.

The catching would be up to the boy.

suddenly, there is another wolf. expecting aggression or to be driven out with teeth snapping at his heels, falcon shrinks back. tail tucking against his belly and his eyes darting for an escape.

but he is soothed when he stands corrected. an inviting jerk of the man's head and a swish of his tail beckons falcon to step into the territory, over that well-maintained boundary line.

and he does so.

he is unsure at first, but his trot turns into a lope, ears standing upright as he joins in on the hunt. a proficient yearling, he has grown up surviving on his own—not really, but his father prepared him for such—and he knows immediately what to do.

the stranger wolf sends a muskrat skittering from the den, and falcon dives for it with a burgeoning jaw to catch by the neck and snap with a clean jerk.

Hotah surged the muskrats from the den in a burst of motion, water and mud flying as he drove them clear. He turned just in time to see the boy dive—clean, decisive—teeth closing, a sharp snap ending it quick.

A grin broke across Hotah’s face. Good kill, kid—

Then he really looked at him.

The smile stilled. His breath caught. Those eyes—warm, unmistakable—hit him like a blow to the chest.

Towhee…? he murmured, disbelief threading his voice. No. That wasn’t possible.

He stepped closer, gaze searching the boy’s face. Who’s your mother, kid?

The question hung there, heavy, as the river whispered behind them.

the thrill of the hunt, no matter how small and no matter how swift, does not die out in the youth. he tosses the rat down to the snowy earth with a triumphant, large smile. tail wagging, excitedly. notched ears pulling upwards, attentive and hopeful when he turns to look at the other wolf. he is praised, for once by someone who is not his own father.

but the look on the man's face bleeds away, replaced with something like shock. and falcon's ears pin backwards, anxiety rising like a tidal wave in his chest. he doesn't hear the name he utters, too lost in fear of what had transpired in a matter of seconds.

what had falcon done wrong?...—

who is his mother? falcon hesitates, brows furrowing down above his gaze that teeters around. why did it matter? but he wasn't in the habit of ignoring his elders, stranger or not, and he swallows.

h-her name was towhee... he trails off, tail slinking back down from its aloft position to assert quietly between his legs. crestfallen, with deep breaths as adrenaline still pumped through him. she died when i was little... and my siblings too. my father— he stops.

the look on the other's face disturbs him. why? did you... know her? was this man some long lost relative? an uncle, a cousin?

Hotah stared at the boy like the world had tilted under his feet.

He stepped in close, slow and careful, eyes searching the yearling’s face—those eyes—then the line of his muzzle, the set of his ears. He circled him once, as if the truth might change if he looked hard enough.

No, he breathed, disbelief cracking through him. No, no… it can’t be—

But it was.

He stopped in front of the boy again, hands gentle as he steadied him by the shoulders, needing to be sure he’d heard right. Needing this to be real.

Your mama lives, Hotah said, voice rough and urgent all at once. She’s alive.

The words seemed to pull him forward before he’d even finished them. He glanced back toward the caldera, then down at the boy again, eyes bright with something fierce and hopeful.

Come on, he urged, already turning, tail lifting in a clear follow me. Quick, boy. I’ll take you to her. Grab that muskrat. She'll be so proud of 'ya.

There was no doubt left in him now. Only haste as he searched for @Towhee Jr.

Towhee Jr free to pop in whenever!

the man circles him in disbelief. and beneath his gaze, falcon feels little. small. he shuffles on wide feet and his own eyes follow the larger man, blinking in futile question.

no... no.

w-what? he can't help but chirp back in response, eyes beginning to widen—reaching their apex when he is taken by the shoulders. falk hesitates, a stammer on his breath.

he is hit with an impossible reality.

falcon has no time to question. no time to rebut. he doesn't even know this wolf's name! but he turns on surging legs, hardly managing to grab the muskrat he'd killed before he lopes off after him.

his mother? alive? how?

wait! he calls after through a mouthful of rat fur. h-how—

can wait for tj here :3