Redhawk Caldera Wilted colors.

Finally Towhee began to relent, laying first uncomfortably against her bloated belly and then slumping to one side. Reyes was so busy watching her — like a hawk you might say — that he didn't really hear her quips until a second or two later. He grumbled in reply, The fuck even is a Rivhawk — as the first shot rocketed from his lover's behind.

The volley which came next made him flinch a few times, but he adjusted to the sound and with a heavy sigh, accepting that this was not a possible life-or-death situation and just a case of terrible gas. When Reyes thought it ended he tried to open his mouth and say something only to have his words cut short by another fart, and then another, gradually becoming more frustrated.

For the sake of everyone, Reyes looked down to the forgotten muskrat carcass and tipped it forward with a flick of his paw and watched as its limp body sagged down the hill, head over bum over head, and off a little ledge. Then he slanted a tired look at Towhee as if to silently say, "Are ya done?"