The Sunspire Muscle car.

Especially in her increasingly ornery mood, Towhee didn’t want to discuss or think about Reyson’s sexual proclivities. It seemed Meadow didn’t, either. The woman set about her work, Towhee just doing her best to be a model patient.

But that was made difficult when the man promptly reappeared. Apparently he’d overheard her—Towhee knew she tended to be louder than was socially acceptable—and wanted to set the record straight. He delivered his riposte in good humor.

Towhee groused, T-M-I, dude, although her expression brightened considerably when she processed the news about her husband and kids. Good. Thanks, she managed.

Not long after that, something touched her paw. The worn out Redhawk glanced up at Meadow and nodded. She breathed in sharply when the moist moss touched against the angry gashes along her spine. It certainly hurt, though the soft, wet material also soothed a bit.

What about the leadership here? Did you alert them? she wondered, eyes looking to Reyson.