Northstar Vale Lemon children! Go forth!

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The stream gurgled softly, and had he been in a better mood (more himself maybe) then Titmouse would've been overjoyed to search the river stones for pretty colors and shapes to play with or collect. As he was now, the boy just looked out over the current and seemed utterly disinterested. Rian drank, and it was quiet for some time.

When the older wolf spoke, Titmouse didn't even look at him. He was watching the stream. Watching the colors morph and the shadows shift. The current pulsed against a middle-sized stone that looked uneven; partway through Rian's comments the big stone came loose, floated a fair ways along, then clattered against smaller rocks. Titmouse saw the bear; he looked away foolishly to his feet.

—sometimes you can't trust your inner voice to tell the truth, so you gotta put trust in your friends to steer you right. Titmouse sighed through his nose and wiggled his toes through the wet soil. His ears went back, looking very much like a child being told-off for bad behavior. He interjected in the next moment, mumbling, I don' have any.

A moment after that, to clarify: 'm loud, an' I don' know things, an'... he shook his head at the mere suggestion of friends. He did have Liffey, but Titmouse had matured to a point where even he could tell when his cousin was irritated by him. Then there was Redshank (who he still held out hope for), but the older boy was pretty set in his mannerisms and clearly held no interest in the small firebird. Titmouse frowned as he tried to think of others, and then looked back to the stream with his eyes glazed by sadness.

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