It wasn't so hard to find places to hide in this forest. Screech could appreciate the quiet of it all, even if the occasional breeze through the naked trees caused a weird sort of groan. It was a hollow sound; sort of eerie, sort of annoying, but easy to get used to. He'd spent a good few hours trying to relax enough to sleep, but there was no way that would happen. He hadn't managed a minute of shut-eye since he'd come-to in the Heartwood - and he looked it.

Having not cleaned his face in the slightest, Screech had a nice patch of brownish-red fur plastered across the ruined skin of his cheek. The wounds from the sisters' teeth continued to seep in to the snow, leaving small trails in some places, melting through in others. Although he didn't move much once he'd found his haven, there were a few red-streaked paths within the hollow that almost worked like border markings.

It was a gross thought - but it reminded him of Blackfeather, further spoiling what little appetite he carried.

Screech had managed to work up the energy to try one last patrol of the area (to make sure he hadn't been followed), and that's when it struck him: the odious signature of Moonspear. He stopped in his tracks and felt his stomach lurch; the world swayed around him, and then he dropped low against the frosted soil and dry-heaved his stress away.

As he got back up he heard the snapping of some twigs - and that made him whip his attention around so fast, he could've lost his other eye in the process. The stranger murmured something just beyond a copse of narrow trees, and he spied upon her with his cyclopian vision, ready to flee the scene if she got too close.

Screech was no magician. He had no affinity for parlor tricks, but he'd never been very interested in such things as entertainment - being a warrior had always been his priority. But right this second he would've sold his soul in order to throw his voice or do some kind of ventriloquism thing, maybe scare the girl back from whence she came. 

It chilled him to the core when the wolf began to look around for him. He was just on the other side of some trees and, from time to time, he thought she was looking right at him. He couldn't run, couldn't breathe, just stood there and watched as she investigated the snow and came creeping closer - until he had to take a breath, at which point he backed up a step and ducked his head, trying to breathe without being heard, but he accidentally jostled a small winter-clad shrubbery with his right shoulder.

Fuck.

The noise had been enough to alert the observer to his presence, and he felt her eyes lock upon him between the criss-crossing branches. Screech wasn't sure what to do - he wanted to run, again, always, but stood like a gargoyle instead. He couldn't move; every second he spent in proximity to this Moonspear wolf brought up a cataclysm of emotions.

She demanded he not move, which was to her benefit. He wasn't about to go anywhere just in case this was the end. What if this was the scout, and one small sound from her could bring the Cerberus out of the shadows? What if they were waiting for him to slip up? He hadn't gotten far from their last collision point so he hadn't fully adhered to their terms -- they could be hunting for him!

Screech felt like a convict caught in the crosshairs of the law. As the stranger drew closer, he ducked his head (ruined side tilting away from sight) and felt the fur across his back begin to prickle with anxiety.

Being caught by one of these wolves was a terrible feeling, but what added insult to injury was how nonchalant the stranger was about his situation. No doubt the Moonspear wolves had spread the tale of Titmouse the Terrible, or something. The trio of sisters likely gloated about their execution of justice; so this wolf would know of him, or they should. Instead they were looking at him like some kind of lost little animal and asking stupid questions.

What happened? Your family happened, he answered venemously, raising his head and looking straight at the girl without any care if his face should scare her off. Let her be scared. She was as guilty as the rest of the wolves of Moonspear - if he were stronger, better, he would've unleashed all of his fury upon her, pissed on her remains, and left her body to rot right here in the wood. What happened - the very thought of the question was enough to make his blood boil, taking away whatever fear he might've held for the time being.

You're from Moonspear. According to your people, I killed some girl. He stated this cooly, factually, and watched her for a reaction. Eye for an eye, or some shit.

It doesn't fucking matter, he cut in before the girl could get much of a word in (effectively nullifying most of what was said). She had begun to ask him the same damn question that everyone else he encountered seemed keen on: why did he run, and what did he do? Was he innocent or was he guilty? But he curtailed that with his gravel-laden shout.

I don't see the point in answering that question, he spat, not when those bitch-ass girls have already ruined my life. He glared from where he stood, then seemed to get an idea and lurched towards Wraen—turning so that she could get a good and full view of his eyeless side. Just know that your family was wrong. They jumped to the wrong fuckin' conclusion and I paid the price.

Wraen was right in thinking he should've stayed, but not everyone reacts the same way under pressure. He was now about to explain the situation to her; he would not tell anyone ever again unless it was very important, because he just didn't want to relive the horror of it all. Screech withdrew a second later, his tongue sliding out to lick at the dried blood across his ruined face, but he sneered at the taste. I hope — if they go against Blackfeather, if they fight in the war — I hope Blackfeather kicks their ass.

Her first statement throws him for a loop because he isn't anticipating agreement. Rebuttal maybe, a defensive volley of words, but instead he hears the opposite. What comes after is the painful part and his teeth set in a grimace, ears shooting back upon his head sharply when she mentions his family — that maybe they'd have given up on him and fallen for the Moonspear bullshit.

You talk about my family as if you know them—you don't. They support me and -- and they'll always be there, hearing otherwise did hurt, but it came from the mouth of a Moonspear wolf so Screech wasn't exactly keen on believing her. Still it made him doubt. Towhee had never been very happy with him around, he barely had a connection to Elwood or Finley, and even Raven had seemed pretty busy prior to his banishment. He didn't want to believe anything that Wraen was saying but at the same time, there was some truth to her words and some venom beneath.

They don't know everything. They don't know that I was chased out of my home. Did you know? That they were going to rip open my face and then banish me? He didn't want an answer to that despite speaking the words, and went off on another aggressive tangent before she could get a word in: I can't go back there without those three lunatics killing me. But my family will notice. Moonspear won't be safe for long once they know the truth—once they know I've been run off for nothing!

He was done. Anger still pumped through his system but he wasn't afraid of her anymore, and he wasn't rooted to the spot as he had been for the majority of the confrontation; now he was pacing and unable to contain himself, and he couldn't sit here and scream at her any more than he could try and have a civil conversation. It seemed as if she was trying to make nice and on some level Screech would appreciate that—but he was still too riled up and the trauma was too fresh for him to try and pay further attention. What was the point? She wanted to know his next step and all Screech could do was stare at her incredulously.

Are you slow in the head? He hissed, with eyes wide. Did you hear anything I just said to you? I can't go home. Whatever happens in the Caldera will happen but I can't go there. You fuckin' Moonspear wolves wanted me gone so I'm gone. His tail was lashing behind him and the gray of his spine spiking haphazardly; there was no way he could go home or send any messages or anything, he was on his own now. Didn't she get that?

Go home. Get back to your people and pretend you never saw me. All he wanted now was to sleep, or to run. To get away from here and never look back. The sooner all of this was behind him the better. Screech was already pushing her aside with what meager amount of force he had left (which wasn't much) and making a bee-line for whatever lay behind her.