Northstar Vale Lemon children! Go forth!

Titmouse harbored yet more dissertation to the points Rian made, and it was causing his compassion to come in direct conflict with his irritability. But he was calm enough in the moment, with the silence of the trees and the babbling of the brook as their only companions, to stamp it down. He understood the boy's frustrations to a level he couldn't possibly convey with words—he knew what it was like to feel useless. He still felt it on a daily basis, but it went relatively unacknowledged with so much responsibility now resting on his shoulders.

He slowly rolled so that his back feet weren't trapped beneath his bulk, and considered his next reply before committing it to words. "See, you just said the answer to your own problem—we're bigger, er, older. We've had more time to practice and learn than you." He remarked in an usually gentle tone of voice. "Redshank is an orphan, just like Cypress and Rannoch. Or, I mean, I think he is. Life expected them to learn fast, or die." He continued on somewhat more rapidly than before and turned to observe the younger boy's face. "Seriously, Titmouse, we have no fu--'effin idea what we're doing. You're in good company."