Heron Lake Plateau Tyrants and kings both meet the same fate, strung up at your city gate

Towhee's hackles stood on end when Quixote commented about Colt's hatred of X. "I'm not going to sit here and shit talk your friend," she rejoined, "but that's fucking ridiculous." She pressed her lips together to prevent further epithets from escaping. Why Colt took an issue with her handicap or her bird made no sense to Towhee—what did either of them ever do to him, anyhow?—but she knew it said a lot more about him than it did her.

She shrugged again, not sure what to make of the topic of Clover. If Quixote suspected anything amiss, he didn't state it outright and Towhee saw nothing concerning about it (other than Clover's judgment of character, maybe). She'd noticed both Clover and her sister going through some highly emotional and reactive stages recently, so she chalked it up to that and didn't pursue the subject.

Towhee led the way into the deeper shadows beneath the plateau, though she faced Quixote just in time to catch his latest query. She tipped her head thoughtfully. "I mean, there's Screech," she said. "I can't think of anything else. If anything does come up, I'll let you and Rave know. But just 'cause I stepped down doesn't mean I'm going to be hands off all of a sudden. I know it's not going to be the same as working with Uncle Elwood and Aunt Finley—the three of us operated more or less as equals—but I'm just as invested in this pack as I was as Alpha. I'll be doing everything I did before, just deferring the important shots up to you guys. And if that's an issue, tell me now."