Sun Mote Copse Everybody hates Monday mornings.

all ideas arcturus had about resolving the tensions between the two of them died the moment towhee turned, her teeth flashing in feral contempt. the ostrega balked, rocking back on his heels as his ears flattened in response. arcturus got the hint and was about to swiftly change his course, when a tiny voice gurgled from the winterbare grass.

he froze, the hare dropping from his mouth as he saw the tiny figure. had he -- was that ... his gaze, shocked and suddenly flushed with renewed guilt, sought towhee's in quiet shock.