Redhawk Caldera Twelve years dungeon.

The rock didn't taste very good. It was dusty, and soon enough the film of soil upon it had turned to a warm mud upon his tongue. Some of this he swallowed, but it wasn't a yummy thing.

And then, when an adult came by to intervene, Screech didn't know what to do. He froze and looked up at the silhouette, half expecting to be admonished in some way, or grabbed and cleaned and thrown back among the myriad of children laying in the puddle behind him.

When  it turned out to be Lagan — who Titmouse briefly mistook as their sister Liffey because he was a dumb little turd — he relaxed a little. Then when the older boy began to chomp on rocks himself, Titmouse felt a mixture of relief and amusement. Lagan looked like a chipmunk! Not that Tit had ever see one before.

He opened his mouth to make a happy sound, and out plopped his pebble. Moist spit-mud tumbled down his front, and he grinned up at the other boy with a sparsely-populated smile layered with dirt.