Malagach dropped his handful of salmonberries and perked his pointed green ears toward the shout. Tall brambles stretching across the gully blocked his view.
“It sounds like someone’s in trouble,” his brother, Gortok, said around a mouthful of berries. Pink juice ran down his chin, splotched his buckskin shirt, and even stained clumps of his rambunctious white hair.
“Thanks for decoding that cryptic call,” Malagach said.