Heron Lake Plateau restore me, restore life the way it should be.

As Artaax started to leave, Quixote got to his feet.  So.  That was less eventful than he'd been expecting, even if he didn't understand some of what had been said. Oh, but he totally had to make a parting shot like some little kid.  Take your threats with you. That's really not a road you want to walk down.  If only Quixote could read Artaax's thoughts...  He was definitely no hippie, he was that quiet dude in the fantasy tavern that suddenly kicks the snot out of the really annoying guy because, well, he's annoying, then goes back to his corner and tries to melt into the woodwork again.  Nobody was allowed to mess with his pack and family over something so dumb. It just wasn't going to happen as long as he was around.  Hell, if they had to teach the whole pack to fight an expert level, then fine, but if Artaax thought that whoever Drageda might send would have a nice easy time having their pointless vengeance over a comparatively minor (in the grand scheme of things) slight, then they were gonna find out otherwise.