Redhawk Caldera Damocles

Quixote was a realist and still relatively unfamiliar with well.. Everyone. He was little comfort unless you liked reality with a dash of pessimism.  Or sometimes the other way around.  To a certain point he liked expecting the worst, mostly because it meant that he was prepared for it to happen, but he was no longer willing to blindly accept his own death just because some random as hell leader said to.   Call him paranoid, call him a party pooper, whatever.  Violence was a part of life, for they were predators, they had territories and families to protect.

He bowed his head.  Then we shall make sure it's only needed once.  It was a flat, definitely darker tone than some of his previous.  Quixote would do what was necessary, even if a part of him wished to be elsewhere, that maybe he'd given one of the trade packs a chance instead of searching for the familiar.  I'll do what I can to make sure that this one battle will be the only thing needed.  And yet, it still felt a little dishonest due to his bottled doubts.  Did he even believe himself? He was one wolf, they would be many, against another many.

The black wolf wasn't sure if there was anything else that he had to contribute to the conversation.  He wasn't the greatest talker, especially with authority figures, and so looked to Finley to see if there was anything else.



Would he like himself when it was all over?