Twisted Slough Livin' at my mommas house, we'd argue every month.

@Redshank can drop in if desired. Also open!

They hadn't talked much since reuniting, not about this, but Screech had set his mind on an idea as soon as the Sunspire was at his flank. He knew things — not much, mind you, but things nonetheless — and tantamount among those things, was the immutable fact that he was homeless. That he could not return to the Caldera, or the valley that housed it. He had no family in the Sunspire no matter what Liffey had said to him. That he would come back one day and throw Hydra off of her godforsaken mountain — but that left him with an excessive level of uncertainty. He wasn't alone because he had Redshank, but together the two of them had nothing to their name.

Their names were meaningless. 

They were meaningless.

In the weeks since departing the Sunspire, Screech had entertained the thought of going with the dark-furred dancer from the beach; he thought about the Cortens often, of the friendship and love that they shared during the night of the moon, and of all the things that Screech missed about his own family. Maybe if he reunited with Seelie then he could live with her? Or introduce her to Redshank, and they could live together as a trio? But that brought thoughts of @Sorina to his mind, too. And then @Cassiopeia, as his memory blossomed with all the faces of the wolves he once knew. They were all gone now. Screech had no idea what had happened to Cassiopeia (and it was absolutely lost on him that she had been there, on the Sunspire, during his 24-hour love-it-or-lose-it blitz). 

He had nothing.

But that meant he could start over from scratch. He was at the bottom of the proverbial totem pole — his name was dirt, he was scum, everyone either wanted him dead or just wanted him gone, so gone he would go. It took a while for Screech to reach this conclusion because he'd often be reduced to a useless husk of self-doubt and depression, and plus traveling through the wilderness on a one-eyed mystery tour only sounded like a good idea — in practice it was lonely and it was dangerous. To make matters worse, he didn't know where the hell he was right now, but the air was rank with sulfur and the soil had become a slick-but-chunky mess beneath his feet, and he was coated up to his midline in the stuff.

The only upside to this situation — aside from the fact winter had finally ceased to be — was that his home was so far behind him, he may as well be on another continent. There was no way that the wolves of Moonspear would ever find him here, and Screech held this in his mind as he went along, fueled almost entirely by a self righteous level of spite, and spite alone.