Redhawk Caldera Twelve years dungeon.

When he began to mimic the mimic, Titmouse felt the first stirrings of a strong connection with the older boy. Yes, this was what he wanted — someone big and strong to idolize! To learn from! To be loud and obnoxious with! His siblings were great at being both of those things, but they were steadily decreasing in number, and Titmouse could only be entertained by them for so long before finding something else to tinker with. Now at least if he wasn't eating rocks, he could croon with Lagan.

Aaaeeooo!!! Wooooeeoo! he sang an incongruent series of screechy, crackling notes that made a few of the adults lift their heads and turn to look at the two of them, perplexed and irritated. Weewooooaaoo! He tried so hard to match Lagan's sounds that he strained against him, standing on his tiny hind legs and canting his head back aggressively, and then fell backwards — he rolled and smucked in to the rock pile, which scattered behind him.