Heron Lake Plateau shadow, my sweet shadow

There was no uncertainty or fear in his gaze.  He trusted her and he was quite willing to listen, even if it ended up being some plea for Screech's life.  Except, well, it wasn't.  Why was she being so shifty about whatever it was? ... Oh.  Oh.

A moment passed as he tried to process what he'd heard before he suddenly stood up.  Oh sure, he was angry as hell, his lips had pulled back again into a monstrous snarl, but it wasn't at her -- his venomous gaze had pointed towards the horizon, where Screech had theoretically been taken.  Why hadn't he just killed Screech when they had the chance?  He took about three determined steps that way before he almost seemed yanked back on an invisible chain, back to Raven's side.  It was like when he showed up after the fight -- every ounce of him wanted to utterly shred something, someone, but he came back to her instead.

He settled nearer to her this time, draping a foreleg across her shoulders possessively, pulling himself even closer to her.  He didn't want to accidentally hurt her, but at the same time it was probably rougher than his normal touch, as Quixote wasn't anywhere near calm.  He was still infuriated, boiling, at the fact Screech had dared to do something so morally reprehensible to Raven, though he tried to bury it beneath the surface.  Even if back then she hadn't been his, now she was.  Quixote was supposed to protect her, and again he hadn't, and also again it would have been impossible for him to do so but that didn't make him feel much different.  Why couldn't the world let him protect Raven like he was supposed to?

His ears flattened as he moved to tuck his muzzle up against the corner of her jaw.  What he said was a borderline growl, I tried to give him a chance.  It was foolish.  A skunk couldn't just go remove its stripes any more than Screech could become harmless, apparently.  He wouldn't make that mistake again.  Quixote wanted to say that she should have told him earlier, he wanted to know why she hadn't said so before -- a couple of times he opened his mouth, but realized how wrong what he'd say just wasn't the right thing.  His lip twitched, frustrated, before he finally settled on one thing that was certain, You won't have to worry about seeing him again.  There was another promise for her.  Screech was too much of a danger to be trusted, even if he came back begging.  Quixote really should have just killed him.  Sure, throwing him into the wilderness maybe made that happen but they should have made sure.