Blackfeather Woods you must know life to see decay.

The familiarity of heading off to some basically unknown territory to mess some wolves up was an eerily familiar feeling to Quixote, and not one he particularly enjoyed revisiting.  Even if they were doing what was right, there was still the problem that he was here in the first place.  It was far too late to turn back now.  Doing so would be the mark of a coward, not a reasonable individual as it might have been before.  Instead he was walking along, veering mentally between calm and mentally twitchy depending on which way the wind was blowing.

Honestly he still wasn't entirely sure what to expect, he could only guess.  Things could go incredibly well or incredibly bad and the things that would define which it was going to be were those aspects that still existed in the unknown.  To a certain point, he hoped they would continue to reside there.  That would mean they'd arrived and nobody was home.  That was probably too much luck to ask for.

Quixote brought up the rear of the trio, and when they crossed the pack boundaries he fell back a few extra paces but didn't let the distance spread any further.  Basically he just wanted to make it harder for enemies to surround the whole group.  That and he'd rather be the most appetizing target rather than Finley or Towhee -- especially since the latter wouldn't hear an approach.  Yeah, sure, he wasn't exactly fond of potentially putting himself out like that, but eh.  It seemed the best choice.  If they came to a stop he'd catch up, though, it all depended on what lay before them in the forest.  He'd only been able to guess a little from peering around at the landscape from the outside.