Northstar Vale -- wretched, wretched leviathan

Months of living with the vale wolves had helped the child to mature, although the majority of that maturation was only physical in nature. He was bigger now; he was stronger, faster too. The seed of thought that had been planted (to be a warrior) had taken root and now flourished within him, changing him. Titmouse had been so busy with his efforts that he failed to notice when his cousin mentioned wanting to depart for the Caldera - but even if he had been aware of it, it was unlikely he would have thought to follow her.

After their last spat, he had withdrawn from her company unless absolutely necessary. Titmouse was too stubborn to see Liffey's side of things, and the tiny quarrel, the insult she had served to him as he had tried to protect her, fueled a detachment.

So, he was stubborn, and he was ignorant. But he was fully aware of the quality of the borders, for he traced a route upon them every day and every night - racing across those paths in order to strengthen himself. When a presence arrived upon the borderlands, he was there. This time, so was Rannoch - so Titmouse slipped in to place behind him, curious of the newcomer, but doing his best to look imposing and powerful at the same time.

Seeing as he was still clumsy and awkward as heck, his skidding halt behind Rannoch was far from smooth. He glanced sheepishly at his leader, but then turned his eyes upon the stranger while Rannoch spoke, and it was there that his attention lingered.