Blackfeather Woods Claustrophobia.

There was no way for him to tell how long he was in the cave. How long before Maegi came slinking back through the forest, through the danger that could still be present, as if her own home had become a minefield. All he could register beyond the throb of pain in his head and the blurring sweep of the shadows, for a long while anyhow, was the familiarity of this space. It was both familiar and homely to him and terrifying, mixing memories from different lives together. Titmouse sagged against the dirt. He breathed, he sat. The scent of Fire was there and he knew that smell — he recognized her, remembered their conversation and the ruined voice that he used, but he also remembered the sweet smell of apple skins and the sour flavor of the spoiled fruit. There was a haze between those moments. No matter how hard he tried to drum up the memories between those points, he was met with more pounding in his head,

like a drum beat

like a flashback to war and

to the taste of his own blood on his tongue;

of salt and crashing waves and
— Mou, a voice.

What the fuck, a voice filled with fire, then dulled to cinders with a whisper.

Why did you leave me?

And he couldn't look at her — wouldn't. She is crying and he can hear her heart breaking in her voice, feel her muzzle jamming in to the fur of his neck and the hot breath of her fright — and he pulls away without thinking. Feeling that breath, those teeth, the danger of those teeth near his throat again, and again he's on the cliff. Titmouse lurches away from her and almost hits the jagged wall as he turns to sweep his one good eye across her. He expects to see his sister for a moment — remembers Towhee's teeth latching across his throat, his mind playing tricks as the trigger is pulled.

He sees Maegi, and he gasps, Screeh, and there it is, that ruined voice again. That voice that he cannot fathom as his own but, he remembers. Oh, he remembers so many things — M-my name, is Screeh. She was righ.