Shadow Mountain And his name is JOHN CENA

Uh, duh, stupid-ass, it'd be dead, she retorted with a roll of the eyes that would give Tiercel's holier-than-thou mother a run for her money. It didn't really matter that Tiercel had dissed her. It had been a weak diss. She'd taken dumps stronger than that diss. Unlike her undeniably evil little niece, Singra was neither inclined to eavesdrop on her mom's gossip nor inclined to run off on her own for adventure or whatever drug kids were on these days, but even with such a weak constitution for one of her bloodline, she was better than sissy disses like that.

She cast Tiercel a disbelieving look through the pea soup of a fog that separated them. She didn't smell shit. Well, actually, she did smell shit. Did you just fart? Maybe it was that bear dung they'd wandered right past without knowing it? Nope. Definitely Tiercel. I don't smell anything. Are you sure you know what a moose smells like? Because Singra sure as heck didn't, although Tiercel was a lot more confident than she, so of course she believed her even upon copping a doubtful tone.

Shut up, dumus, there's no such thing as Fog Bears, except what if there were? She stared resolutely ahead as she marched, unwilling to give Tiercel any indication whatsoever that she was afraid. She wanted to go home. She wanted to run on the steppes with Lusca, knowing that someone—maybe not them, but probably Raptor—would be bringing home the bacon. At least home guaranteed bacon. The KD and ramen lifestyle of two poor teens was really wearing thin on Singra's patience, and she had precious little of that as it was. Wylla would thank me if a Fog Bear ate your ugly ass and you know it, and that was probably the only possibly true thing she'd said besides her whines all day. Turning her nose into the fog and finding that even that was blinded by the weather, she heaved a hugely dramatic sigh and said, all right well go hunt it down then Miss Moose Hunter Extraordinaire.

You're the grown up, indeed.