Redhawk Caldera Damocles

At least Quixote's doubts weren't completely unexpected, not that he'd know that, at least for now.  He was, however, fairly sure he was being reasonable about it all, and the fact that he didn't just leave on a whim the first time this all entered his mind had to count in his favor.  Just, damn, why did the familiar always end up being so tempting?

He'd just about mentally talked himself out of it all again -- he'd made his promises, he'd do his duty. It was amazing how well those decisions held, but he was a soldier and he'd do his duty, even if he was questioning his very reason for doing so.  It was all he'd known.  Then came a sound from up the slopes, and his gaze locked onto the approaching figure of Finley.  Well, hell.  There were probably, what, three wolves that he would have preferred to not run across right now?  She was one of them, Elwood another, and Towhee the last because he was pretty sure she'd try to chew his face off or something.  Of course this meant one of them had to appear.

His ears flicked back slightly, and he shifted to hold himself a little bit more submissive than he ordinarily would.  Perhaps it was guilt.  But either way he wasn't going to be impolite. Yes ma'am, I am.  It was the kind of question that he expected to be followed up with some sort of request (in the past, often something mundane like to retrieve a leg of venison from the cache), so he stood there for a moment before realizing there wasn't an instant demand. Can I be of assistance?  Superb conversationalist he was not.  And it was a dumb question.