Redhawk Caldera Are lobsters mermaids to scorpions?

As he padded along the shore, the skies opened up and the light rain became more of a downpour. The panting Redhawk sped through it without paying it much mind at all. He was single-minded about getting to the borders and commencing his patrol, at least until another fellow materialized on the edge of the lake, and he had to decide if he was in the mood for non-familial company or not. Most of the time, the answer to that was no, but Birk had spotted him and he didn't feel like altering his course much.

"What?" he asked curtly as he slowed to a walk. He couldn't know what Birk was thinking or that the wolf was mentally comparing him to his family members, but he'd never been fond of others openly staring at him like that. There was a lump of something foul smelling near the other wolf's feet that drew Nightjar's silvery eyes down to the wet shoreline, but the glance was brief, and soon his gaze settled back on the man's face. He was unabashed about it, too. Birk was higher ranked, no doubt about it, but Nightjar was a Redhawk, and though it wasn't outwardly apparent, he believed deep down that that trumped everything.