Twisted Slough Into terror, into valor

Screech held firm to his position while he listened to the other wolf speak, but he had to resist the urge to take another step back when Gannet tried to close the distance; it didn't compute with him that the Redhawks would allow one of their family members to be held captive, held for medical care, or whatever. They had a perfectly capable healer in their ranks — so that didn't really fly with him. All the same, once the conversation turned back to Screech and his messed up face, he could tell that Gannet was honest in his ignorance when it came to the Moonspear wolves.

The silver boy couldn't stop his gaze from narrowing. Who the fuck else would hunt me down and rip my face open? That what a rhetorical question, obviously. The followup: They forbade me from ever going home; they said if I was ever caught near the Caldera, they'd gut me. I went north but apparently not far enough, because the three bitchass sisters found me. He'd never be over it. The trauma was one thing, the ego-smashing beatdown by three stupid girls was another, and being constantly reminded only made things worse.

He couldn't help but bare his fangs at the memory — but he hid his fangs after a second, clearly not intending Gannet any harm (or so he thought). I had to keep running so I've been living to the west, at a plateau. At least I was, until everyone showed up and took it from me — but what do you care? He watched Gannet again, sharp-tongued as always, you smell like them. Are they your family now?