Whatever had possessed, compelled him, to assault his sister had passed as soon as he hit the ground. Aside from a brief flurry of wide-eyed staring, Screech's body collided with the soil and then there was only the white noise of her reaction; the movement of bodies, and the follow-up that was Niamh thrusting her snout against him roughly in order to prompt he try to stand. It took a few sharp bludgeons before he got the idea to try — and then Screech's body staggered up and stood on shaking limbs. He was much like before: a glazed expression, an endless exhaustion that seemed to have compounded since his leap for Raven's face. Blood soaked in to the fur upon the face and forequarter of the vessel, not that the stranger took any notice.

It was not long before the escorting began; he stumbled more than he walked, and appeared to lack compunction for his behavior, nor for any words that Raven had spoken in his direction. He did pass her a brief glance with Screech's eye; it was not a lingering look, but there was a subtle refocusing, a sheen, and the thinnest look of sorrow before the stranger took hold of the machinations of the body, and was coaxed away with the insistent attention of the two girls.