Blackfeather Woods the war at home

It didn't matter what she said, he could not be swayed to the contrary. She was Maegi, because he needed to see her and there was no way his mind could undo what it had created in that moment. She refused him, called herself something else — bringing to mind the oncoming winter, images of snow, a chill that stole its way through the numbness; the lid of his good eye fluttered and he tried to focus, but for a split second all Titmouse could see was white. A flash of the ice cave from when he was new to the world, the scent of urine stinging at his nose — and he was back again, in the blackness of the cave with Tundra.

What's your name? She said, with Maegi's voice. He could only smile in the addled manner of an addict, weaker than intended but to be fair it was difficult for him to feel his face muscles, and the slightest movement caused the wound of his cheek to burn. Many names, he murmured, which was true. He'd been called so many things and at this point, which one was true? Was he Titmouse, child of the dead Fox and Peregrine? Was he Screech, the useless, angry, corrupted little shit? Or was he Mou, the sweet boy without a clue -- ?

Hmmm, good question. But that wasn't much of an answer now, was it.