Swiftcurrent Creek bayou

For a stolen moment, all seemed quiet. Akavir pressed his forehead to a tall tree in the shrouded woods near the creek, inhaling sharply, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself and his other companion into.

The creek held familial ties in many regards, sure. Was it worth possibly dying over for a ragtag group of cowboys? Was pride really the issue here, or was the pure fact that Akavir had no true cares left to give?

Go big or go home, they said… Well, he was determined this was home.

From his peripheral there was movement, and the shadowrunner shifted quickly, wincing at the movement of his muscle. The potential spy stalked toward him—fury written all over his features. Then, there was an unceremonious splat that gave way near his paws—the boy had all but launched a frog at him.

He stilled, listening to the emboldened words from the youth, swallowing down the beginning of amusement he felt at the trade. “Mayfair is also my surname.” He paused. “The only issue we have is that I don’t trust you. At all. Guess you could call that pretty personal.”

He paused. “Anything else?”