Hideaway Strath Stay a thousand years.

There was a fucking useless bird in one of the trees, harpin' on and on. It had started about twenty minutes ago and Dingo hadn't paid it any mind at first, but it was going on, and on, and fucking on, to the point that he became distracted from his duties (today that was the act of patrolling the rendezvous site) and began pacing around the base of the tree where the shitbird was calling from. Each. Call. Made him want to scream and snap his teeth; a low rumble emanated from his chest as he circled the trunk again, and a manic expression dominated his golden face.

He didn't know what the hell kind'a bird it was, but it was loud, and he hated it a lot. From somewhere behind him among the trees he could hear the kids playing - and Towhee speaking, then rustling as the trio began to march. They intercepted Dingo's path and the presence of so many wolves must've spooked the damn bird because something flickered and the repetitive sound was suddenly gone. Dingo exhaled a long, slow breath as he regained some composure and dodged around the tree to keep up with the fam.

Dingo easily fell in to step a few feet behind them; the kids had a scattered trajectory and irregular pace, and then there was Dingo, containing his murderous urges but looking rather distracted at the tree line overhead.