The Floodlands chased it 'round to Tokyo

Thinking back, Lucca couldn't remember if he had ever stepped foot outside the Plateau since they had relocated. He wasn't even sure how much time had passed since then but a whooole lotta shit had gone down in between that made it seem like it had been years. Despite his initial reservations about the new territory, he had kind of come to kind of like the water-logged mesa. Sure it was damp, but the views were almost unrivalled — as well as offering great protection — and the fauna was delicious. He had yet to make any formal decisions on how he felt about the surrounding areas, however, and so today decided to do just that.

There was a familiar, prickling sense of unease as he put distance between himself and his home, but the Blackthorn tried to ignore it and pushed on through the late morning fog. It hung heavy throughout the Floodlands but not so much as to obscure his view. Instead, it bathed the plains in a strange, dreamlike haze, the sun peeking through the passing clouds and casting the grass in random splotches of warmth. Waters leftover from the floods earlier in the season shimmered here and there and, with a giddy throw of his head, Lucca bounded towards a particularly large puddle before plunging his forelegs right into the centre and drenching the entire front half of his body.

Quixote really hadn't left the territory in like.. Uh.  A while, we'll just say a while.  There wasn't really any reason for him to do so -- everyone else had been really keen on doing the stuff that required leaving instead.  Okay, sure, he really wouldn't have minded being out trying to find Screech to flay him alive with the rest, but each time he'd picked being responsible rather than revenge -- it just wasn't to be, and unless some evidence was found that the chance even still existed, he just had to accept that fact.

The only reason he left the plateau today was because he was maybe ten minutes behind Lucca and he was mildly curious what he was up to.  From what Quixote could tell on just about all his border trips he could remember, the kid was pretty much a homebody in comparison to some of the other Blackthorns which seemed to zip away to who knew where at least once a week.  At least right now it didn't seem like this adventure would end with him roasting away under the sun either -- at least if the weather held... So why not?

By the time Quixote actually caught up with him, Lucca looked to be having a good ol' time splashing about.  It wasn't like this place was at all lacking for water, that was for sure.  Quixote's approach wasn't hurried, but just a casual amble along a not-so-wet section of ground with a vaguely amused expression, Sup.

The water was lukewarm and tasted foul, having sat on the floodlands for who knows how long under the heat of the summer sun, but Lucca didn't mind. In fact, he wasn't really bothered by most things. Like his father, the boy was happy to take life as it came and not kick up too much of a fuss — his siblings more than made up for his lack of explosive reactions. So in typical fashion, when the Blackthorn got a face full of mud and stale water, he simply shook it off and swiped a foreleg across his muzzle.

A dark shape suddenly materialised in the corner of his eye as he wiped away the muck, and orange eyes turned to lock onto Quixote, their newest Alpha. He knew there had been some swapsies in the leadership of the Redhawks recently, but it all looked to be sorted now. He liked the idea of Raven as Alpha, and this Quixote guy seemed pretty cool too. They were a thing, right? Right. They did have some babies together after all.

With his front half still sodden, the boy turned to face the darker man, stumbling slightly on the soft earth, before offering a respectful dip of his head. "Hey, Qui—!" his voice strained slightly as he suddenly cut himself off. Wait, was that okay? Was he allowed to call him that? It wasn't disrespectful, was it? "I—I mean —ote...I mean Quixote." The stuttering was punctuated with a taut, sheepish grin.

Quixote didn't mind Lucca as much as the rest of his siblings -- or maybe just distrusted him less, depending on how you looked at it --  by virtue of not being some crazed berserker when the pack moved and there was that fight and stuff.  Though he painted that litter with a pretty broad brush, maybe there were exceptions to the chaotic rule.  Tegan was weird but passable too, he guessed.  Maybe.  It wasn't like any of them had really gone out of their way to talk to him much, but neither had Quixote.

Maybe it was weird that Quixote was pretty much keeping to higher ground (all half an inch that was), it wasn't like he particularly felt the need to stay nice and sparkling clean and well-groomed.  Maybe water just wasn't entirely his thing.  There was enough of it back up at the pack lands.  It wasn't like he was daintily avoiding it either, just not getting super soggy.

Was Lucca more socially inept than him?  That'd be a trick, but all that stumbling over Quixote's name was a little goofy. Don't stress yourself out too much.  Just something I can recognize as me, yeah?  At least shortened versions of his name made more sense than Don.  Though snarky as always, he at least seemed kind of amused at it all.  What brought you out here?  After all, that was the whole reason he followed the yearling out here -- a simple question.