Redhawk Caldera Crunch time

He wasn't used to waiting this long. His birth pack had been a well-oiled machine when it came to deciding to go attack and actually doing so.  Quixote had thought that the whole thing would be over by now, but instead snow was still deepening and time still passed.  It had to be soon, right?  Soon.  Soon™.

After his last scouting trip he'd figured that maybe they'd be ready to go. Instead, here he was, running on adrenaline and lack of sleep.  It was not a good thing.  But perhaps it wasn't surprising -- he'd been spending all this time studying how simple things could go wrong, how if Blackfeather wanted to attack, the invaders might be the ones with the upper hand.  Hopefully, though, it wouldn't be an issue.  Hopefully things would go as planned, they'd all return victorious and he could have a great nap.  But still it nagged him, waking him when he did sleep at every crunch of a twig.  Maybe he should hunt down a medic that might have something to knock him out for a solid night.  Quixote's reclusive behavior had pretty well put limits on that, too.  He wasn't entirely sure who to ask.

For now, though, he was heading to the cache. If he wasn't going to keep his mind sharp by sleeping, the least he could do is have some food to keep him alive in general.  Maybe with something in his stomach it'd lull him off to dreamland.  A quick glance to the early afternoon sky warned him of the approaching snow -- and getting to the cache before it had even more of the white stuff burying it would probably be a good idea.