As you sit together in the forest glade around a tree stump draped in a checkered tablecloth, drinking tea and eating scones with clotted cream, you explain to Chi-ci-cli the events of the day. When you get to the part about the airline ticket, Chi-chi-chi spits out a mouthful of tea.
"Little Rock?" he says. "Shit."
"What is it, Chi-ci-cli?" you say, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin.
Your squirrel sidekick glowers, eyes darting around into the shadows beneath the trees and bushes. "It's not safe here... let's just say we're going to need more guns."
"How do you know I haven't got enough guns already?" you say, somewhat insulted by his implication.
Chi-ci-cli spits again. "It doesn't matter how many guns you have. If you got an airline ticket to Little Rock in the mail today? We're going to need more guns." He finishes his scone and folds up the tablecloth.