Sleepy Fox Hollow star of the county down

She wasn't too good on scents, not yet - a life with a nose dunked in the perpetual musk and stink of the moors had given her nothing less than the worst survival instincts this side of the Panhandle. But she was a good listener, she liked to think, and that - those tiny voices and that little beep of a cry - were undoubtedly the sounds of children. At first, a good sense of confusion swept through her; children, here? Well, they were everywhere, she supposed with a hum, turning quietly as the sound sprang up from some direction in the sunwashed grass. 

Children, she knew, were communal efforts. The idea that, when she finally lifted her head to sniff at the air, there was only one woman who smelled of milk still, was a little odd. She'd been raised by her parents, her grandparents, her uncles and aunts, her neighbors, her priestesses, the Moonsister. They could all be named mother and father if she liked. This didn't seem to be one of those situations in the least. "Uh — xαίρετε?" and though she stood quite still, her head angled for any glimpse of her new company that she could spot. You only used the water's tongue when you wanted to be extra polite, she'd remembered that at least. "I don't... um, are you okay?" 

Who was she asking? Beats her, but she let her ears flatten with mild concern. The sound of a kid yowling was never a good sound, not even to the least maternal of women.