The Tangle I said somebody's been shot, somebody's been abused

"FUCK."

Dusty Rose paced at the top of the ravine, the perfect picture of towering fury despite his somewhat underwhelming stature. He made as if to jump, toes hanging off the ledge, claws curled inward to grip the crumbling dirt, but he knew instinctively that this wasn't a jump he could make. He'd have to go around.

"FUCKING — FUCK. AGAIN???"

It wasn't that he was ungrateful or anything. He had all four paws underneath him again, which he surely hadn't believed would be the case not too long ago. He should've trusted that Reverie would rescue him.

He should've known she'd run right off again.

And look, he understood. And he was glad for the help of her weird-ass cult and the hunky guard that'd gone with her and all the reverence with which they regarded her. His lady deserved that sort of respect. Deserved armies to rule over. Deserved loyal subject to boss around. Dusty Rose was all for it! For her. But this crusade was dragging him along, too, and he'd had to endure several long weeks of her extended family's hospitality after the much more dubious hospitality her other extended family had shown her. And it was all just a little confused in his head — who were these people? Why couldn't they leave well enough alone?

But he understood. Reverie was a fucken queen is what all this was about, and Dusty Rose would never, under any circumstance, want her to hide that light under a bushel. She was gonna set the fucking world on fire and he was gonna stand behind her and laugh.

As soon as he crossed this ravine.

As soon as he was sure he wasn't being followed.

As soon as he could fucken find her.

"FUCK," he shouted again, just to make himself feel better. His voice echoed strangely in the dense woodland, bouncing back to him from down below and almost seeming to murmur through the trees. Dusty Rose spun to face them, ears flat on either side of his head.