Redhawk Caldera chew you up and spit you out

Of all the responses Magpie expected, it hadn't been that. For the second time, she found herself startled into silence, simply watching as a change seemed to come over the delicate stranger. There was less tension, at least, and her gaze returned to the flower's that marked the place the yearling had claimed for her den. She wondered at that— unsure of its significance, if there was any. And this time, the small silence between them appeared to go more or less unnoticed, for the white female was speaking again.

Magpie felt her own irritation refocus back on Peregrine, rather than continue to remain misdirected on Dove. "Yeah," she agreed a little too readily, fully understanding the white female's ire. It was an echo of her own conversation with the hulking Alpha, and Magpie suddenly wondered if she needed to have a talk with Fox. How could she be married to a man that refused to accept her family?

She remembered, then, that she was supposed to be taking this frustration out on Dove— for a moment, she considered attempting to save face by adding something like, Well, he's right, you know. But it made her feel sick. Dove's situation felt a little too close to her own— eerily close— and Magpie didn't want to agree with Peregrine, even if she were only faking to make someone else feel like shit. Her own tension released, then, and she sighed, "I know exactly how you feel. Peregrine's, like... the biggest, gaping asshole in the Wilds. He's got to be constantly constipated or something."