Sun Mote Copse Blow the wind southerly.

Niamh made a valid point, which Towhee hated to counter, but her lips twisted as she explained, "She's been gone for over two weeks, according to Crow." That was even longer than her disappearing act during the foray to the coast. She swallowed thickly, still feeling the remnants of guilt about that. "I don't think either one of you should go," she added a little reluctantly, feeling even more like an ass. "I get it. I want to find her too. But wandering the wilds, it's..." It was an exercise in futility, honestly, and that was the hard truth.

Her friend surprised her by broaching another topic entirely: her butthurt (I couldn't help myself). "What?" she blurted, caught off guard. "Not checking me out, my ass," she retorted, then started laughing at her own pun, the sound similar to a braying donkey. "It's a rug burn from all the dicking," she fibbed with a forced casual shrug.