Redhawk Caldera On the mend.

Well, he got what he wished. She stopped talking abruptly and there was only silence - and as it progressed he felt something akin to guilt for behaving like such a child. But wasn't he still a child? Titmouse had thought of himself as an accomplished warrior before, something of an adult and an aficionado (even if it was mostly in his head) and what had that gotten him? Broken bones and broken promises. He let that silence engulph him for the time being and tried to ignore the tension he had created and perpetuated since his return; the boy adjusted his weight and tried to cross his forearms so he could lay with his chin across them, pouting like an emotional asshole, and the attempt had him wincing ("Ow, fuck--!") and sitting bolt-upright to try and alleviate the pain in his broken leg.