Lone Star Mountain engine no.9

The chuckle eased some of the tension coiling in Cambria’s muscles, particularly those in his upper back. He out a breath and schooled his expression, though it flickered with confusion again when Mulherin mentioned “RBF.”

RBF? he repeated, tacking on, Your mom? without any awareness of how it sounded like a joking insult.

After the swarthy yearling presumably elaborated, he posed a question that was easy enough to answer with, I think so. It’s an adjustment—I forget if I mentioned I’ve never really lived in a pack before this—but I’m doing my best.

He tilted his pale head, wondering if Mulherin had any feedback in that regard. Cambria’s heartbeat sped up a little. In a way, Mulherin had indirectly recruited him. He felt a singular sort of camaraderie with him, particularly since they were close in age. He wouldn’t want to let him down.

He mulled the statement about needing air, weighing it against the question about settling. Cambria’s lips parted as a question sprang to the tip of his tongue. He shut his mouth with a gentle click, appearing to rethink it, only to open it a moment later and decide to speak his mind after all.

The rise doesn’t seem particularly settled in and of itself, though, he posited, reflecting on the altercation following Redd’s return and thinking, as always, of just what trauma had afflicted young Ruckus. It’s not a judgment, Cambria was quick to add, just an observation. Is that how it always is, in a pack?