Frogspawn Swamp The lives we've reclaimed.

There it was again — that name, that fire in her voice; it occurred to him after that, she was talking to him, and his scarred face twisted in to a more obvious frown. He opened his mouth to protest against whatever claim she was trying to make, because he certainly had no memory of her, but then she mentioned a cougar and his golden mane bristled across his shoulders. He took a bold step closer to her and fixed his good eye in her direction, trying to study her face — ears twisting at the name offered up to him, Quixote. Who was that? Who was she, and how did she know...?

Maybe this was a trick. His first thought was less than trusting; she could be playing him. Firefly knew that his injuries were extensive and obvious and he wasn't ready to come to terms with a potential truth — so he shook his head, and soon flashed his front teeth as a small display of resistance. I don't know what you're talking about. Even as he spoke out against her he was mentally bracing for the aftermath, not knowing what to expect from this broad. His experience with pregnant women had made him more cautious about how he behaved around them, but what this one claimed - that threw him.

I don't have a sister. None that I remember, his voice softened a bit as he spoke, but that frown remained in place. Nice trick though, guessin' at what caused all these scars. Could've been a bear, or maybe a bunch of coyotes — his eyes were still trained on her face, tracing her scars with utmost scrutiny. So she was a fighter too, it seemed. What about you? I'd guess — angry pig? There. His frown turned in to some kind of grim and straining smirk. He wanted to be away from her, whoever she was. Crazy women and their hormonal bodies making them nuts, and all that.