Blackfeather Woods never seem to find the time

Between the ringing in his ears from her shouting and the adrenaline-fueled endorphin rush of his torn face, Titmouse's reaction was not exactly scripted. He heard Maegi but he also didn't; he saw Redshank but he also didn't. When the girl sank back and sob-screamed until her voice was nothing but a gargle, he didn't notice. Titmouse was busy staring down the dark shape of his once-friend and with a quake to his stride, pulled himself at a precarious pace away from Maegi and towards him — towards the boy with whom he had more shared history. The last time he had seen Redshank had been — had been — at home, when the Redhawks had come to their doorstep.

Redsang, he slurred. It was impossible to tell if his lack of pronunciation was from his throat injury or the blood that was dribbling down his cheek and in to his mouth; probably a mix. Didn't matter anyways. His head started to pound as his adrenaline ebbed. He winced - licked his lips - tasted the warm blood but was ignoring it with a strange determination.

R-Redsang, wh.. why aren'd you at the plateau? Titmouse had no memory of his coma, and certainly had no recollection of the void-like moments where he was nowhere; he'd come-to just as Towhee gripped him tight and threw him to hell, more or less. The in-between moments were a blur. There wasn't much time before Titmouse staggered and slouched, his blood pooling on the ground beneath his bleeding face at a rate that sped up his disorientation. First a concussion from Tegan - now this. But he had to know.