Redhawk Caldera Fighting a giant goldfish at the South Pole

Finley's attempt at keeping Nightjar occupied was at least partially successful. It kept him from hyperventilating or letting his mind wander to the bleaker implications of his new condition. When he had time to himself he would wander down the darkest corridors of his brain and come to a number of unhappy conclusions, but for now, his godmother was doing an excellent job keeping him from those thoughts.

"No," he answered unhelpfully. He wished it were that simple. As far as Nightjar knew, he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. "I went on patrol," deep breath in, "checked the caches, went on patrol again, got back when the sun got all weird, watched that for a bit, then went for a long nap." None of these things correlated to his eyesight as far as he was aware.