Why? The word repeats – the needle ever skipping over the broken record. Why would he be the target? It is not like he has done anything of notoriety, he doubts the wolves of Taviora even knows he took temporary residence among their borders. Why now? His thoughts flicker frequently back to the new mother, suffering quietly in her den. He could never forgive himself if she died because he couldn’t be there to save her. Why did they have to use force? Had they simply asked, he would not have hesitated to move to the beach – granted after Paisley is stable enough to be moved without danger. Quixote never intended to stay in Taviora, and Paisley seems to share his wanderlust, he is sure it would not have been hard to convince her to come. Coquette would almost undeniably follow, they are all they have left after all, and Glorall could have gained three new members rather than two new prisoners.

If only they knew the power diplomacy has over subterfuge.

Quixote moves silently, more out of habit than any real reason for stealth, his feet dancing lightly yet anxiously over sand. He can hear the soft hsss of waves beckoning to him, their soothing song a siren to his curiosity… but he can’t, he doesn’t have time for this! He needs to get back to Paisley! He freezes, realization overcoming him – they couldn’t have known. They don’t know Paisley is in danger, if he could just tell them, surely they would let him go! For the first time since being ripped from Paisley’s side, hope blossoms and he fights the urge to leap for joy – even if there is hope, he still isn’t out of the (metaphorical) woods yet. He has to get their attention, he has to tell them. With a deep breath, he raises his maw to the heavens and howls.