Heron Lake Plateau Wait, there's no such thing as unicorns?

He lurched slightly from his seat, as if he had been instinctively going to shove Towhee away before his rational mind pulled on the leash.  Settling again, Niamh drew his attention, eyes locking on to her with hawkish suspicion.  But he nodded and indicated to the side -- he wasn't going to move right now, but she could go put the rabbit down over there or go sit there or whatever.  Quixote didn't care too much beyond the immediate "Raven stays safe" initiative.

The more he reflected on it, the more he was sure he'd made the right choice.  Ensure Raven's safety and the guy stays alive, or get swift revenge on someone who was no longer a threat by the time he'd arrived on scene and maybe lose her in the process.  His anger had burned to cinders, and though surely it would return at a later date when he was rested and things were less uncertain, for now Raven's care was the focus of his entire world.  Forget his other duties, what anyone else wanted, she was all that mattered.

Screech, he said, the name sticking distastefully to his tongue.  He was still out there.  Quixote hadn't been there in time.  He'd failed at one of the few jobs he actually cared about and the unwarranted guilt hung like a dead weight across his shoulders.  Sure, he'd expected Screech to get into trouble again, but not then, not this.