Redsand Canyon They're throwing bottles at your house.

Sunhawk had his doubts the asp-faced woman truly cared about relations between whatever this "Ursus" was and her pack, but he kept his clap shut. If there was one thing he had learned, it was that there was a time and place for everything - and while he could occasionally be the southern-twanged version of a mild Claptrap, Sunhawk knew when to fold'em.

He stood at unease as Revui turned around like a boulder, lowering his head and eyeballing Nemisis like she was a goat on a tether - not a good image - and speaking of bad images, he couldn't help but notice the storm in the form of a wolf coming on the horizon.

A huge wolf. Like maybe as big, or bigger than Revui. What were these wolves all eating in this fangled valley, that they all grew to be the size of lobstrosities? Sunhawk didn't cower, but he wasn't exactly the picture of confidence either as he eyeballed the man and noticed, suddenly, the blackness of the man's tongue.

It was then his southern roots came shining through, his voice an eager timbre: "Friend, name's Sunhawk Endore, but you can call me Sunny if it do ya well. An' this here is my friend, pay no mind to the scowl on his big face - he's fine company with a fish or two in him." Sunhawk gave a wink and thought about slapping Revui's side (This tank can fit SO many fish in it) but then, thought against it. "Now, are you aware your tongue's got gangrene on it?" Sunhawk's voice had turned from twangy to sorrowful, as if their palaver would soon become darkened by great strife.