Heron Lake Plateau I'm allowed a phone call... And a beer.

Raven and Quixote. Raven, Quixote. Quixote, and Raven. He was running their names through his head over and over to get them right, and roaming the territory on a hunt — not exactly for them, but it was an important thing to do at some point today and he kept it at the back of his mind. Raven, a new mother and the alpha female, black fur. Quixote, her mate, also with black fur and never very far from her. Niamh had explained some things as she escorted him across the boundary. It played on repeat in his head.

But he couldn't be distracted. If he was going to get very far with his plan, he would have to be useful. Ambrose was drawn to the lake more often than not, and had been scouring it for small morsels to collect for a fresh cache (he was thinkig of frogs and fish rather than the obvious birds), when he spotted a dark figure — and heard the incongruent sound of a quacking duck like laughter on the wind. He deviated so that their paths would intercept, and came up alongside him.

Hey — he called out, but then paused, because the stranger was walking in the water, and didn't look too happy. Which one was this? Male, black fur, hates birds — Quixote. Can I help? Whatever the guy was doing, it didn't seem very effective. Ambrose kept that to himself.