Big Salmon Lake northern soul

Well at least a name was good.  That's more information than he'd gotten out of several wolves he'd met.  Gaps on his mental map were slowly being filled in, but more information was still needed before he could make a decision on where to go in the end -- assuming they even wanted him.  This wolf though, he wasn't entirely sure what to think of her.  She seemed rather catlike at least as far as the way she toyed with her words and that drove him to be a little more cautious than he otherwise might have been.  Or, well, almost.

He scoffed at the idea, apparently she'd inadvertently touched a nerve, A spy?  That's way too much effort.  Want a head removed? Sure, whatever, but find someone else to do the mindgames.  It was probably something to do with spies being seen as some way cool, ultra smart thing and those who didn't fight with words being degraded to cannon-fodder.  Screw the smarmy liars.  Quixote was a pretty honest dude most of the time.  He'd omit things, sure, but playing stupid was a lot different than outright creating falsehoods -- at least that's what he told himself.

Quixote, however, was indeed making a fool of himself, near as he could tell.  Ugh. He drew in half a breath and quickly cleared his mind, his tone now even and controlled, Sorry. I'm not here to cause trouble, just find out where to end up.  Normally he was keen on keeping himself to himself, but his mouth had gone ahead of him, and if he managed to completely weird out this Moonspear resident, that'd cross the pack off the list of options whether he wanted to go there in the end or not.