Heron Lake Plateau I'm a police officer. I'm a police officer and I want a cup of tea.

Owen's eyes widened as his father spelled out this new dilemma for him. Well shit: neither of those sounded like very good options, at all. One could practically hear the cogwheels squeaking and clinking in his little brain as Owen slowly pulled his unhappy, beseeching, bewildered eyes down from his father's face to rest even more doubtfully upon the antler. It was still just sitting there waiting for him to slowly waste away into a pile of fur and bones, by the way, in case any readers were wondering. Shocking, I know.

Owen's mouth silently worked just a little as he considered, his small pink tongue darting out to give his whiskers a tiny lick of uncertainty. After a few long moments' staring contest with the antler—which Owen lost, big surprise—he said, though still laden with uncertainty: Fiweggohnweshhuchsway go...? Which was about as clear as mud, but hopefully good enough as a second later he reluctantly detached his claws' burrlike hold on his father's leg and moved away a meek half a pace, though still staring suspiciously at the antler all the while. He had to blink at least every once in a while, which was unfortunate since he could have sworn the thing had in fact moved under its own power on that last blink or two...just a little. Yeah, Owen wasn't going anywhere near that again.

He only hoped it wouldn't lure Quixote in and trap him like it had Owen himself...although admittedly considering the adult's bulk the antler probably would have at least a little more of an issue caging Daddy Qui in, or consuming him whole. (Gee.) So Owen even told himself he didn't need to feel bad about letting his father take all the risks, here. - Watch out, not-a-stick-thing, you! He's gonna come get you if you don't MOVE, and FAST! - he signed at the antler in a moment's fitful burst of bravado. Yes, Quixote could handle himself—and then Owen wouldn't have to. This plan was looking better and better by the moment.