Redhawk Caldera Now I'm smoking cigarettes and I strive for purity

For @Towhee or @Tegan or both!

Titmouse did not like how weak he felt. He hadn't liked it in the dark wood, he hadn't liked it when Raven had been fixing him, and he especially disliked it now that he was "better". Sure he still had all his limbs, and he could walk. But the time spent laying around and waiting rather than training had taken a toll on the boy. He was thinner, the muscle he had started to acquire had faded pretty quickly, and even his restored limb shook as he walked (or ached sometimes). The only thing he could think of to do was run, because maybe all he needed was to stress it a bit - so he got right back in to the swing of things, training every waking moment.

First he'd trail the borders, making up excuses about becoming a warden to anyone who questioned him (but really Tit was looking for signs of his friend whenever he was left to his own devices); then he'd criss-cross the territory and check the caches, following established paths or making his own. He never sat still for long but he also never stopped to say hello to anyone unless his leg started to ache, and then there was always a quick pit-stop to visit Raven.

Today he was along the banks of the central lake. His lungs hurt, and he was panting hard while studying his own reflection; there didn't seem to be any change and Titmouse found that frustating. He dipped his nose close to get a quick drink and then, with a nudge of his snout, disturbed the surface enough to make his silhouette ambiguous. With a small pirouette he began to head away from the lake and back towards the borders where he could do another run, a scowl on his face.