The Heartwood I have blessed each one of these bullets

On any other day Titmouse would've reveled in the chance to do this job. To wander the wilds in search of recruits for his family's pack, or the task of guarding the borders and vetting anyone who came near. He had once cherished the thought of himself as a grand warrior or a guardian, someone powerful and respected. Now though, he couldn't wait for the stranger to get a move on. As much as he had enjoyed their company Screech was not in the mood to entertain; he wanted to relax, and then when his energy levels recovered, figure out what he was going to do next.

Maybe, he said, once again avoiding his responsibiilties and being a flake. He'd come back in his own time but he wasn't about to escort this guy all the way to the caldera, if that's what he was after. As an afterthought he added: Safe travels, I guess. Be careful crossing the valley, there's a pack in a forest to the east that likes to kidnap and torture people. Take it from me, they aren't so fun. Screech tried to smirk at this, but he looked more constipated than anything - and then plunked himself down against the tree roots, ready to sleep away his worries.