Redhawk Caldera I will fight you for eternity.

Towhee felt like she had boarded some sort of sibling carousel at some point, whereupon brothers and sisters spontaneously appeared and disappeared. Only a few had truly stuck over time—Raven, Orca and, of course, Phox—and she decided they were the only ones she truly cared about or trusted. Everyone else would be held at arm's length, as surely they would eventually vanish just as suddenly as they had appeared. She had taken a risk, deciding to let Nightjar break through her barriers, only for him to run off and wind up dead.

She mulled these matters as she circled the borders, though the stopped and tried to clear her head of errant thoughts. Towhee knew she must be more vigilant than ever, what with their horrible neighbors to the east. Some wolves had gone missing from their ranks, including her own prodigal brother, Titmouse. There were some murmurs that the Blackfeathers might be responsible, though Towhee privately thought it more likely that the little pipsqueak bailed on them yet again.

Still, she knew she must be on her guard. She might even have to prepare herself for a real war, a thought which sent a thrill down Towhee's spine. She picked up her feet and began moving again, the caldera to her left as she headed north, her orange eyes sweeping over the stunning foliage of the distant Bramblepoint.

After visiting the lake again, he decided to see what actually happened to Colt.  Surely enough time had passed that if he had joined up with the pack he'd mentioned he'd be reasonably well established, right?  Eh, knowing his luck the guy dawdled and had only joined yesterday.  Or maybe not at all.  All he knew right now as that Bramblepoint seemed uncrossable unless you followed the game trails (he wasn't fond of being a pincushion) and that as he attempted to find a trace of scent along the way, too much snow had fallen and melted away and fallen again to stay for it to be at all reasonable for Quixote to follow it exactly.  Every once and a while he thought he caught a breath of a clue, but then it was gone.  He was playing it by ear, making a best guess for where Colt would have gone when heading this direction.  If any other land was in the way other than this giant land of spikes, Quixote would have felt less sure that he was following exactly.  With limited movement? Yeah, this seemed like a highway.

Eventually the brambles ended and the mountain was up before him.  The density of wolf smells was a lot thicker here, but he was going to have to move closer, wasn't he? From a distance, he was learning nothing.  Quixote sighed.  Really, he didn't want to get much closer in case he gave the wrong idea -- he still had a few more things to investigate before he made a choice of pack on his end -- but it seemed like the only option.  Get in, get out, come back later if it seemed like the right choice.  Simple plan, easily fouled.

He'd paused for a moment, but as Quixote moved forward that final bit to where things were clearly marked his whole body morphed from the confident loner to a submissive and cautious one.  His luck had held reasonably well thus far, and he wasn't going to count on it to continue.  Slinking along low and flat was the best way he'd come out in one piece when his investigations were done, weren't they?  Though he made sure not to cross the invisible fence he was certainly up near it as his nose swept the ground looking for the right scent among many at a point of the borders that seemed to him like a natural door.  Where was it?  He was coiled like a spring, ready to bolt in case someone came after him, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that.  Ugh.  Really, where was it?  Had Quixote guessed wrong and Colt had gone to a different part of the borders?  Was he not even here?

And if the wolf walking the borders hadn't actually seen his final approach, she certainly would smell him -- the wind was carrying just the right way.  He'd remain clueless a lot longer than she would.

A strange flurry of movement caught Towhee's eye, causing her to freeze again, snout pointed at the distant forest. She saw it again: an explosion of what looked like fallen leaves. She blinked, glancing around herself—there was no one and nothing else noteworthy nearby—and then hastened toward the woods, attention focused like a laser upon that flip-flopping mess of reddish brown leaves.

When she approached, she saw that it wasn't dead foliage but a bird, a large bird with a hooked beak and bright yellow talons. Unbeknownst to her, the raptor made a strange burbling noise when it saw her, regaining its feet beneath it but holding one of its wings askew. Its beak opened threateningly—an unheard hiss escaped it—and it turned its head sideways so that one of its beady eyes tracked the wolf's every movement.

Unaware that somewhere behind her, a stranger was approaching the borders she was meant to protect, Towhee lowered her nose and ventured cautiously nearer the obvious bird of prey. "Are you hurt?" she wondered aloud, eyeing its wing. The bird simply stood there, staring at her, its chest heaving. "I'm not going to hurt you," Towhee said even as she realized she had no desire to pounce the bird. Even if not for its weaponry, she couldn't help but wonder out loud, "Are you a hawk?" If the hawk understood or responded in any way, she didn't catch it; she couldn't exactly read its lips, seeing as it didn't have any.

He wasn't finding anything.  Either Colt had a different plan than what he'd said, he hadn't joined, or it had been so recent that he hadn't really woven himself into the pack's scent yet.  Disappointing.  He'd been looking for a good reason to put one pack in front of the others but no luck again at that.  He quickly skittered away to a more comfortable distance, finally exhaling a full breath.  He arched his neck, trying to release the stress that had built up along his spine and shoulders, returning his posture to normal before he orbited eastward along the packlands.  He'd look a little longer before heading back north.

Quixote wasn't finding anything, still.  He'd been focusing on watching the packlands and the immediate ground in front of him and hadn't seen her initially go beyond to investigate the movement she'd seen.  He was to the point of turning away when he too spotted a rather out of place darkish pair of blots.  Huh.  He picked up the pace, trotting towards them at a good clip.  It was a tricolor wolf and a big hawk?  Eagle maybe?  Didn't seem like an owl but he couldn't clearly see from this angle.  He was approaching from out of the other wolf's line of vision, but he called out, bemused, How the hell did you knock that out of the sky?  Of course, he didn't know she wouldn't hear.  The bird probably would, but Quixote was a lot farther away and thus a lot less of a threat.  If she was focused enough on the bird, he figured she might not react at all, so he likely had some other dumb comment to make before it would be really obvious something was a bit off in what should be a normal-but-not-everyday encounter.

He came to a stop, a comfortable distance off, Dinner or a pet?  Being a lone wolf, he was willing to chow down on just about anything, but it wasn't like he often go to see that big of a bird up close.  It was a curiosity either way.  He was mid-thought about how it would taste when he suddenly realized that the other wolf... She was one of the scents that was all over the borders of that pack right nearby.  He'd been really close to having his nose chewed off, that was for sure.  A bristle rippled through his fur at the thought, but he took in a sharp breath and did his best to clear his mind of it entirely.  Nope, he totally didn't just do the equivalent of peeking through the glass inlay on someone's front door, nope.  Not him at all. He was just passing by.  He'd done nothing wrong.

Bird and wolf stared at each other for a long moment before, abruptly, the hawk gave a shrill cry (Towhee saw its beak open wide) and haphazardly flapped into the air, careening rather wildly as it dove deeper into the woods. She stared after it for a beat, ears erect despite the fact she couldn't hear it crashing through the underbrush out of view. It then occurred to her to glance behind her and she promptly forgot the hawk as she pivoted on a heel and glared daggers at the stranger skulking in her direction.

"Who are you?" she demanded, oblivious to his two previous attempts to engage her. Her tail stiffened but did not raise; she was defensive, of course, but not nearly as aggressive as she might have been closer to the caldera. With that said, Towhee was well aware she was on her own away from her home, which played a part in the second question she barked at him, "You're not a Blackfeather, are you?"

He was talking, wasn't he?  Damn, he didn't know anyone that good at not even twitching an ear at his dumb comments.  I mean, yeah, sure.  People eventually would tune him out, but a complete stranger not even acknowledging that he was there?  Were they deaf?  He didn't actually seriously think that, though -- more like the sarcastic way that it gets asked. Maybe he'd eaten some spoiled meat or a mushroom or something and was hallucinating an entire wolf.  Surely, it would say something about his psyche if he was imagining someone who he wasn't familiar with.  Maybe it was a ghost!

The bird, though, wasn't too happy.  Goddamn those things were loud when they weren't really far up in the sky.  Either way, it was keen to get the hell out of dodge.  Then she turned around went right to interrogate him! Well, that eliminated the ghost theory.  Hadn't eliminated delusions from eating something, though, and now he was considering it since she did sound rather odd.  It very well could be some kind of bizarre waking fever dream unless some part of it started making sense soon.

He was obviously somewhat perplexed, one ear rotated out to the side while the other remained neutrally upright. Um.  I'm Quixote, he said, in a slightly drawn-out way that probably had an equal chance of reading like 'Coyote' or 'Keo Tay' as much as his actual name. And I have no idea what that is unless that's what you call folks with solid black fur or people who have eaten a crow.  He was still wondering if that had actually happened or if the second question had been all in his head.  If it had, man, he probably would really seem like an idiot.  He canted his head, his speech quick, Did you want to go get that bird?  The bird was loud, he was sure that was real at least. And it probably had whacked into something pretty good to have been on the ground that long.  They could probably go find it if she wanted.

Even as the words left her mouth, Towhee knew he might lie. Keeping this in mind, her gaze zeroed in on his mouth. His name resembled Coyote, which was strange but certainly not the strangest she'd ever come across; she and her own siblings were named for other animals as well. His lips were a little bit difficult to read, though she managed to catch enough words to get the general gist of his dialogue. He denied being a Blackfeather or even knowing what the word meant, then asked her about the bird.

"No," she said firmly. Truthfully, she was highly curious about the hawk, but a fellow wolf was a much more pressing matter. "You really don't know about the Blackfeathers? The pack of psychopaths due east of here?" she demanded, lips pressing together and a hmmm noise escaping her against her knowledge. "Are you from around here?" she asked next, not really waiting for an answer to her previous questions and, for the moment, mindfully disinclined to reciprocate an introduction.

He was starting to un-daze himself.  As the other wolf responded, he was realizing things were staying too static to be a hallucination.  This was just one hell of a weird start to a conversation.  And as far as the words themselves went, he couldn't put a paw on what was causing her to speak the way she was.  It was like his own ears were full of water, but only when she spoke, the rest of the world sounded fine.  He hadn't met someone who was deaf before, so it was going to take him a bit before he actually put two and two together -- mostly because he assumed that if someone was lacking a main sense they probably were eaten by something by the time they were even halfway to adult size.

He started his response similarly, No.  Came from the south.  I know there are packs around, but every damn wolf I've run into has been a loner or making their own shiny new pack.  Though there was one guy southwest of here who was in a pack, but that's the opposite direction.  He was obviously somewhat annoyed at his luck had gone this way.  It had not made things easy for him to gather information.  But psychopaths, huh?  The whole pack, not just one idiot? 

But, if there was one thing he'd learned through all the tumult back home it was that sometimes rifts sprang up from the damnedest things.  It was definitely something to look into if he didn't get reasonable answers from whatever came out of this.  Though he didn't know anything about what had gone down, he'd known people who would have happily started a war over a stolen carcass.

He was a tenderfoot. Towhee squinted, inferring some of his frustration with the number of loners and aspiring packs in the area. She snorted unwittingly, judging each and every faceless wolf out there who had struck out on his or her own at this time of year. She hadn't even properly weathered a winter herself, though she knew instinctively that this was the wrong time of year to be caught on one's own or doing something as foolhardy as trying to establish a brand new territory. They would all certainly die.

It then occurred to her that the very wolf who seemed to share her condemnations must be a loner himself. "What about you?" she pointed out this hypocrisy to him. Towhee shook her head disapprovingly. "You should be joining a pack, stat... that is, if you want to survive the winter." She snorted again, the noise loud enough to be doubly rude. "Just don't join up with the Blackfeathers. They're sadistic enough to keep prisoners—and I assume the entire pack must be in on something that nefarious—and they're about to have the might of three packs thrown at them." So that was a bit of tall talk, though she knew it was only a matter of time before the Redhawks and company made a move of some kind.

His ears pricked up at the fact it wasn't just one pack having problems with another, but three.  That was a conflict where it did seem like it would be easy to find the "right" side to be on... You piss off that many people you probably actually did something wrong unless the three were virtually a hivemind.  Individuals were ornery, so that seemed unlikely.  That is, if it was all truth.  She could very well have flipped the tables and her pack could be the tyrants and troublemakers, with the "prisoners" being ones freed from whatever slavery they were putting them under.  Emotional appeals with a grain of truth made the best lies.  He'd need to find confirmation from someone else before he in a sense offered his sword to the cause.

But then there was his predicament.  He didn't have a horse in that race, he was a ronin, or a knight without a lord -- pick any of the obvious metaphors, they all applied. That's kind of my point, he said, with that same irritation as previous.  When Quixote continued, he was lightly poking fun at himself, which was probably his most emotive state this side of a full sarcastic tirade, Look, I don't get along with idiots very well, so I kind of would prefer to find out in advance what ones to avoid in the first place.  Hard to do so when all the people you've come across have no clue about the locals.  He left out the part about having just come from his little intelligence-gathering trip close to the borders, instead nodding his head towards her. And your pack. Is it the leader of that escapade?  He wasn't planning on asking to join up, yet at least, but it was only after he let the question hang in the air a moment that he realized it, in retrospect, could sound a bit suspicious if she really did think he was a spy or something. There was an involuntary twitch as he corrected his err, as if he'd mentally smacked himself upside the head, I'm used to conflict.  I just want to know how much trouble comes with each pack that might be an option.

The fur on her shoulders, black threaded with white, prickled when he made a comment about idiots; she immediately (and erroneously) thought he was implicating her. Towhee's features went stony, though as he continued speaking, it became clear he hadn't been slighting her. She let out a breath, then blinked a few times when she realized that this was an opportunity lying in front of her. She had already succeeded in completing Finley's task, yet if she wanted to get in some practice as a certified master guardian and aspiring Beta, then recruiting yet another worthy wolf certainly wouldn't hurt her case.

But she didn't know the first thing about "Coyote," at least not yet. Ignoring his questions in pursuit of her own fancy, Towhee said, "I'm from Redhawk Caldera, one of the longest-lived packs in the area. My parents and godparents founded it several years ago and we've been going strong ever since." Her chest puffed up a little. "We don't have any formal alliances, though the packs Drageda and Moonspear would fight with us. We don't need any additional help and I'm not even sure we have room in the caldera's ranks. But maybe, if you have something to offer...?" Towhee trailed off, a brow quirked.

It probably looked like Quixote hadn't even noticed that his phrasing had hit a bit of a nerve at first, but really, he was just that sure of himself.  He hadn't been insulting anyone unless they were an idiot, and in that case, he didn't care.  Burning bridges was a hobby of his.

And thus was let loose a bit of him being dramatic -- if he was human, he'd likely be gesticulating widly with his arms, but instead had to settle for a lash of his tail and a partial bow, Behold, information!  What a sweet thing it is! he had almost said 'sound' but he still wasn't at all sure what was up with her voice and did his best to pretend to not notice as long as he could discern what she was saying. Quixote did have a question in return though, Anything out of the norm with the pack?  The new pack person was saying theirs would be based around skills somehow.  He seemed a bit suspicious of the idea, perhaps figuring a jack of all trades, master of none shouldn't be punished if they were a good pack member overall, even if it didn't apply to him.  He had eliminated some goofy religion as being a thing, because he was pretty sure they'd mention it early and often if there was fanatical devotion involved.

Trying to subject Quixote pack-entry interview before he was ready was like hanging on to a very anxious fish.  He'd had a bit of time to think about it since his first unexpected meeting near the coast, so he had a little bit more thought put into what he'd say but that wasn't to say he was any more comfortable about it.  At least this time, with the veil of peace pulled back a bit, there were more familiar straws to grasp at,  If you are about to go trotting into a war, I was learning more about tactics before I left.  Not officially -- the skeleton lords, it was a very mocking title, didn't want anyone who looked alive to join their old person party.  He snorted, but continued, Might help.  And I hold my own, take care of my own.  If I'd come here planning to do anything than look for information, I'd have brought a gift.  Don't know if it's tradition here, but there it was to prove you weren't going to be a leech.  To a certain point he he was hoping she'd suggest he do so and come back a different day.  Quick, escape before he made a commitment! At this point, he was maybe more used to wriggling away than he was putting his cards on the table.

Towhee didn't know what to make of his theatrical display, so she decided to ignore it and answer his next question. "It's very tightly-knit," she said, "and we expect hard work and loyalty." She wasn't actually sure which principles her godparents felt were of utmost importance, though surely they wouldn't frown on her cherry-picked choices. "It's not easy to get in or gain the pack's trust; you have to earn it. If you fail to do that within a month of acceptance, I'll personally throw you out." Hypothetically speaking, of course...

The next few things he said didn't make a lick of sense to the young she-wolf. Tack ticks? Skeleton lords? Old person party? She repeated each of these things in her head, then patiently waited for some contextual clues, yet they were not exactly forthcoming. Towhee sniffed a bit impatiently, though her head canted when "Coyote" mentioned a gift. Little did she know they were both surfing the same brainwave, though she tucked her burgeoning idea into a back pocket for the moment.

"What are tack-ticks and skeleton lords?" she wanted to know when it was her turn to speak. After he (presumably) explained, Towhee observed, "It sounds like you're a mercenary, like me. Have you fought in any wars before?"

The month clue gave him a reason for why Colt might not be present in the pack scents yet.  Either he got turned away or he was working on improving his relations with those within the borders, not outside them.  He'd have to ask about it.  He nodded.  Seemed fair enough.  Well, maybe.  It really depended on whether or not the others appreciated rough-around-the-edges sarcastic dudes.

There was his first real clue.  The way she repeated 'tactics' was just... Well.  Odd.  He figured it was a common enough word, but these guys were in a heap of trouble if somehow that entire concept skipped their education.  But why didn't she recognize the word, or even repeat it accurately?  Had she not heard him?  Befuddled, he continued, trying to not be distracted,  Yeah, tactics.  Like uh.  You maybe draw a map or something and say, 'By going down this creek bed, they have the advantage, but if you go along this ridge instead, you can see them coming.'  Stuff like that, planning ambushes, escape routes...  He attempted to demonstrate with a claw on the ground but there was enough dying grass and not enough snow to be able to draw easily. 

Skeleton lords.  Eh, just a nickname for the tacticians group in my old pack.  Imagine the oldest wolf you know, make 'em a couple years older and half-dead looking, with their fur all clumpy like they hadn't cleaned themselves, multiply by three.  But damned if they didn't somehow keep living.  Didn't want to train anyone young, either.  He obviously had been very disapproving of their choices, but figured there was some sort of weird logic behind it that he hadn't seen.  That or they were secretly a cult.  Quixote wouldn't be surprised about that either.

He rolled a shoulder in a shrug at her reply.  Mercenary was close, he supposed. The place I was from was always wrapped up some sort of conflict.  I don't think our leadership made good neighbors, nor did theirs. I don't know if you'd necessarily call it a true war, but it was not a happy neighborhood.  Cold war, maybe: a lot of dramatic posturing, feint attacks, and, yes, actual combat when the message wasn't getting through.  Too many similar personality types jammed into one area...  Fur was destined to fly.

"Coyote" attempted to explain the term to her and Towhee thought she understood. But then he used the word "tacticians," which looked similar when he spoke it but different enough to trip her up a bit, specially with added context. She missed most of his ranting about the so-called skeleton lords as she tried to parse out these new words and their meanings. When she refocused on what he was saying, she caught the last handful of words: "...I don't know if you'd necessarily call it a true war, but it was not a happy neighborhood."

Towhee remained silent for a beat before asking, "Can you spell it out? The 'tactics' word, I mean? Do it slowly and face me," she requested. Just in case it wasn't abundantly clear by now, she explained, "I'm deaf. I can read lips, for the most part, but sometimes a word's not familiar and it's just easier for me to learn it if you spell it out." She felt a smidgen self-conscious, though aside from the tips of her ears warming slightly, it didn't manifest in any way.

Once that was said and done, Towhee once more stayed mum for a few moments, pondering everything he'd said, which was quite a lot. Meanwhile, she visually assessed him. He looked reasonably young and healthy, especially for a loner. She thought back to his mention of gifts, weighing this thought with half a dozen others before finally opening her mouth to speak again.

"If you're interested in joining us at the caldera, you should make a kill and come to the borders, calling for Elwood and Finley. You can tell them Towhee sent you. My name and your proof of hunting skills should vouch for you, though I still maintain what I said about using the first month to really prove yourself properly. If you really know your stuff about these T-A-C-T-I-C-S, then now's the perfect time to strike while the iron's hot." We could use you, in other words, Towhee added silently, though it wasn't something she would be caught saying out loud all too easily.

The sharp tilt of his head mimicked the mental 'click' of all the pieces falling into place.  She was deaf?  So that's how a deaf wolf sounds?  From then on, his words were slightly more enunciated than before, but as he had been doing his best to be reasonably clear to start with, it wasn't as massive of a difference as it could have been, T-a-c-t-i-c-s. -- And honestly, I thought I must have eaten something mildly poisonous and was hallucinating through the start of this, so uh. That makes a lot more sense.  Sorry about that.  You're damn good at lip reading, though.  Quixote generally wasn't one to apologize, but he really should have figured it out earlier, and it wasn't like it was her fault he didn't.  Bird was real, wolf was real. No ghosts, no daydreams.  Just someone farther outside what he considered the norms.  He was regretting his penchant for going off on what he considered colorful and relevant tangents -- he wasn't sure how much she caught, but likely not every bit of rambling.  In her position, he figured he'd probably wouldn't be able to pick out a word.. Or would be thinking someone was talking about purple ferrets and Godzilla-quail.  Everyone needed a good metaphorical kick upside the head every once and a while.

One of the things he did want, though, was to be able to be useful, and since it seemed like the Redhawk Caldera pack needed help... As far as his options went, that certainly moved it up the list.  He wanted to live his own life and be useful in the process, Sounds fair enough.  Thanks.  I'll run into you afterwards, I suppose.  He'd cut back on the verbiage entirely, and would definitely have to think about it in the future when speaking to Towhee.  Quixote was definitely the type who would have been right at home swapping drawn-out war stories over a few pints in some dingy bar, but if they were going to be hard to understand, he'd need to find another way to tell them.  A puzzle for another time -- many other things had to go right first.  He wasn't sure that was all she had to say, though, and though he suspected things were relatively concluded, he wasn't going to run off unless it was confirmed.

Reactions to her disability ran the gamut; she had experienced everything from calm acceptance to incredibly nasty insults. Nobody had ever apologized to her, though, nor mentioned believing she was some sort of figment of their imagination. Towhee's fur prickled a little, dimly resenting all of the above but not actually sure how to react to any of it. In the end, she decided to ignore and dismiss it.

"Uh-huh," Towhee said, feeling decidedly noncommittal now, though she gave Quixote a shrewd look. If he was as capable as he described, then they really might be able to use him in the pack. If he did join, she would have to make it clear she didn't want his pity and that he could talk to her like anyone else, though she couldn't deny that it was always helpful when someone—especially someone relatively new to her—spoke slowly and clearly to make sure she could interpret their speech.

"Good luck, Coyote," she said conclusively, orange eyes shifting to the caldera as she slipped past him and began jogging home.

Quixote would likely not win awards for dealing with people.  He'd say the wrong thing, which sounded fine to him but from another view, could always be interpreted differently.  It was a good reason for him to not go into politics, not that he particularly wanted to.  Like everyone, he wasn't perfect, just made no attempts to pretend to be.

There was one thing that bemused him though.  Coyote, eh?  Yeah, he could see that happening.  It's not like he was named Fred.  He'd have fun trying to figure out how to explain the pronunciation later if things went as they might be planned.  The smirk it caused faded soon enough and he turned back north to go decide what to do about it all.