Redhawk Caldera Crunch time

Quixote was the exact opposite.  Though normally pretty calm, even when he got dragged off to fight, right now his normally mundane thoughts had warped into particularly rabid badgers.  Maybe he should go smack his head on a rock and knock himself out for a while.

And there was Towhee emerging across the way and he paused to let her take her pick of the cache. Hey, he responded simply.  He wasn't quite sure why she ended up tossing that particular stoat to him, but he'd take it with a thankful head bob.  The scent on it smelled kind of familiar from around the pack lands, but it wasn't someone he actually recognized.  And wasn't one that he'd traipsed across recently.  Maybe that was why.  Well, as long as it didn't poison him...  He picked up the stoat, carrying it away a few steps before setting it down on the ground again.  He wasn't sure if he'd chow down here or haul it elsewhere, but he was wondering where she was, mentally.  If only to confirm his own brain wasn't dragging him too far off track.

Once she'd made her choice and assuredly looked up again, Quixote spoke again, Think you're ready?  He then realized maybe he wasn't entirely clear, The war or whatever you want to call it.  Longer we wait, more I expect they'll show up here in the middle of the night instead.  It was perhaps the worst result he could think of -- everyone getting picked off one by one or in small groups as they slept or roamed about up to their own business, not expecting anything.  Warnings going out late, blood spilled on the wrong land... Maybe he should go over those defensive plans again, just in case.

And so instead he'd be snapping at shadows until something happened.