The Sunspire sometimes young is idiot-adjacent.

Twenty-four hours. That's all it took for Screech to reunite with an old friend and then screw it all up — that had to be a record. But after what had just transpired along the borders (which still had Screech fuming and pacing just a few ridge-lines over) he was almost certain his stay here wasn't meant to be.

Then there was Liffey. She came along the bend and as soon as he heard the tell-tale sounds of her paws upon the stonework, he shot a characteristically venomous look towards her. The expression softened only a little when she asked about his well-being; that much was obvious, considering his puffed up fur and writhing, high-arching tail.

He slicks back his ears after a breath and tries his best to reign in some of his emotion, but Screech has always had a short fuse and he doesn't feel he's done anything wrong in the long run, so out spills his voice: I'm fuckin' fabulous, how're you? Better question — when did Rannoch drink the Moonspear koolaid and did you do it too? Those fuckers have already wrecked enough of my life, and here you are doing the exact same things with some of the exact same people — he sucks in a necessary breath and grits his teeth, bowing his head away from Liffey for a second or two; she is shrouded in the blackness of his limited vision for a second.

A second later he breathes, Sorry — sorry, I know there's more to it, I.. I'm fine. I'm just worried about Redshank. And myself, he could add, but he doesn't get in to that yet.