Sun Mote Copse seems every castle is made of sand

-barges in-

Upon the news of Towhee giving birth, Pippin had made himself scarce. Any time he had made to seek out the dark female, to question her, to catch a glimpse of the one thing she had informed him would not happen, she was always either with someone else or she looked to be in pure bliss with her arrival.

Of course he had caught glimpse of the little girl. The sandy fur wasn’t lost on him.

Having yet to decipher how he felt, the agouti wolf had withdrawn. Coward, his mind muttered at him daily, and so, with a steeling sigh as night had fallen prior, Pippin had gone to hunt for her.

Finally, he had come home with the plumpest pheasant he could find. The birds were close to their own breeding season now, and the males were particularly aggressive.

Coming to the borders, narrowed eyes fell upon what appeared to be a rather irate Towhee and a dark stranger. With Wraen being summoned, the Ostrega strode closer to Towhee, should anything go south—though not yet addressing her.