It took a few days of mindless travel for Screech to get from the muddy slough to the swamp, but when he noticed the ground becoming more water than mud, he knew he'd reached his limit. So instead of continuing southward, he headed west — and that was how, many messy detours later, he wound up in the thicket. It was incredibly quiet among the trees. If there were birds here, he likely was walking right by them and the underbrush was keeping them hidden. Then again, he didn't know what this place was called let alone what prey frequented the area — so he moseyed his way through, his pace having slackened considerably in the past day or so because he was slowly running out of energy. Mindful of this, he lifted his nose to the sky and called for @Redshank — maybe together they could find something to eat and get some life back in their bones.

The stranger didn't attack him, which was a first. They didn't mock him or try to chase him off, which was honestly so refreshing that Screech didn't know what to do when they dipped low and appeared to invite him closer. Her voice reminded him of his friend Seelie - or maybe it was the cheerfulness they exuded that was so similar. Still, Screech knew not to drop his guard. This could be a trick.

I'm hungry too, but I'm waiting for someone. He remarked cooly, but not with the same egregious tone he usually used on strangers; he did not bristle or try to club her with his words, and settled in to an unremarkable (and uncharacteristic) seriousness. Who are you? The boy asked pointedly, choosing to fill the time with idle chatter - get to know this stranger while they waited for Redshank. The more wolves the merrier, after all.

Niamh. It was more of a sound than a name, but he couldn't really comment when his own name was so stupid. Even his nickname had become something of a bother to him - so when she turned the conversation back upon him, Screech realized it was his chance to really start over; he could be anyone, anything, but he'd have to be quick or the moment would stretch too long and she'd know he was lying. In the end, it was a bit of an awkward pause but he had to go with the tried and true: My friends call me Screech.

Thinking of Redshank now, the boy paused to look over his shoulder, ears turning. I haven't seen anything edible around here besides those.. really tall birds, like, the heck are those? He turned back to regard her, fixing that single eye on her as if she had answers. Have you been here long? Maybe we can all work together - ah, once my buddy gets here. Where the heck was Redshank anyways? Screech was getting antsy.

His ears flipped back as she began to enact "Life According to Niamh," and was assailed with some bad acting but also, the painful recollection of being that kid, and having that family, which was all over now. He gave a half-assed smile in return to her accolades regarding his name, and while he could've spared himself the trouble my telling her the truth - that his name was Titmouse - he suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to see that reaction play out before his eyes.

Jeeze, kid, stop thinking about the Caldera already - you're dead to them.

Partriges? He repeated, zeroing in on the conversation in order to shove away the thoughts of his family. He wasn't loud enough to cut through her words though, and soon the conversation had flowed in another direction, one that made him think fast: I've been all over the place. Can't go backwards, y'know? But I got tired of that, and so me'n my best friend decided to stop runnin' around and stay here. Then, as an afterthought, You could stay here too, if you want. I'm sure we can find bigger targets if you did - so you wouldn't go hungry.

He might've cared more about her commitment if he was a leadership kinda guy, or if he really thought they'd make it big here in the great unknown. Screech wasn't like that at all - he just wanted the safety afforded by multiple bodies; bodies he would selectively choose to keep around. Whether Niamh would be one of those bodies remained to be seen (and he wasn't desperate enough to beg her). So he just shrugged again and murmured, Sure, whatever.

What was more important in the immediate future was food. She'd mentioned partridges as if she knew what they were, and maybe how to hunt them. The boy zeroed in on that part of their conversation and backtracked a little: So where did you see these birds, and how many do you think we can take down? I'm tired of waiting - lets go eat something. He didn't worry about how to get them because he was a wolf and they were (supposedly) small birds with no brains. Without waiting for her answer, he was already leading the way through the grasses with his nose low, searching for bird scent.

The boy nodded as she gave a description. 'Snack sized, gotcha.'
If they could fly short distances, maybe that would be easier than having to chase entirely terrestrial things all over the place - the scrubland was quite dense. Not that he was that mindful. If I scare up a bunch then grab 'em, and I'll do the same if you see any. That was the whole plan - simple. Easy.

Not knowing how to proceed made things a little awkward, but Screech was ready to go as soon as she was; soon the pair were scouring the tall grasses, and every little tremble or twitch of the wind through the hedge would make him bolt and snap, hoping to scare something up. It didn't take long - on one such attempt, there was a flurry of activity as the bulbous forms of various birds came hooting out of the reeds. Screech was hot on their heels, trying to aim and snap, but failing miserably without depth perception.

He reacted as quickly as he could, but some of the birds were fleeing on his bad side and he couldn't adjust in time. When Niamh came bursting from the grass nearby - chasing her own trove of pheasants - she directed him with shouts towards the terrified birds. He did as instructed and tried to leap at them, snapping as they came down; after the flurry of feathers calmed he was left standing over a half-dead bird with a broken wing. Beside it was a smear of blood, and one other plump bird with what appeared to be a broken leg, trying to hobble away. Screech felt very powerful all of a sudden - he had never been much of a hunter, and the accomplishment relieved him. He lunged at this bird with the broken legs and, grasping it by the neck, bit down and then tossed it towards Niamh. The bird was round enough that it could've been likened to a feathery ball. Maybe it was gross to play a game with the suffering birds, but Screech didn't care - he was happy for the first time in a while.

The bird-ball went zooming at Niamh's head, but she reacted without missing a beat and caught it, then threw it back at him. Her laughter was caught by the feathers but he saw the mirth in her eyes, then the bundle of fresh meat; he went for it without thinking and fell short, forgetting for a second or two that he only had the one eye (he should be used to this type of stuff by now but Screech wasn't commonly a hunter, which is probably why both he and Redshank were in such poor condition). It didn't matter much though, the bird-ball had been a good distraction and before he knew it, Screech was being bowled over by the blondie.

She came shooting after him while the bird unceremoniously landed in the grass, and her pounce sent him tumbling awkwardly backwards with her full weight on top of him. He landed with a grunt, and then squirmed, but inevitably called uncle much too soon: Ah, okay, okay, you got me!