Heron Lake Plateau Ain't No Stopping Us Now

The feeling of sticky, wet, nasty mud between his toes was nothing to scoff at. When had he become such a priss? It wasn't being dirty that he disliked, just the tactile sensation of the mud coating his feet. It would be easy to fix. But as Screech realized this, he was distracted by an unfamiliar voice. He raised his attention from the dirt to the surrounding shadows, having briefly forgotten he had been trying to avoid the silver-coated figure he had glimpsed.

They knew he was here, and they didn't sound at all familiar — so obviously this wasn't Finley. It could've been one of her kids, but Screech wasn't sure. It was hard to keep all the Blackthorns straight. As he stepped out of the mud and in to the grass, he began to drag his heels across the dry reeds with the hope that it'd help clean off some of the bulky mud before it set. 

That was when he caught sight of her again. Screech didn't feel bad exactly, but he understood how it felt to be surprised by someone you weren't expecting, and felt a little sympathetic as she called out again. I'm over here, he called through the grass, and then decided to slink closer and make himself known. Sorry, he murmured as he emerged before her, streaked with brown and covered in bits of grass, I thought you were someone else so I was uh, hiding. That sounded lame but it was the truth.