Arrow Lake this empty northern hemisphere

The girl's snarky response was met with a sharp glare, but not much else. He didn't have the energy to confront her as he might've done on better days, although the boy didn't particularly enjoy being the object of scrutiny during this crises. His ears slanted and he turned to leave her behind, eager to go sulk somewhere else, but then she called out to him again - her voice grating at him, which made his spine bristle. It was bad enough that his mind continued to conjure images of his father's corpse rotting beneath the surface of the mountain - worse now, because he had someone talking down to him, speaking as if he wasn't worth his station. He was a child of Stigmata, a soldier! Praimfaya was acting like his mother; worse, she was (at least in his mind, in this moment) treating him like some kind of subordinate.

And who exactly was she? 

Yeah, I am. You got a problem with that? He shot back, standing tall despite how nauseated he felt. As much as he wanted to curl up in a ball somewhere dark to brood, holding on to the prideful, powerful image of his idol of a father, he knew that running away from a confrontation was the last thing Stigmata would allow. Or maybe he was convincing himself of so much because he wanted to keep the man's memory pure, and to honor him. Whatever his motivations, the girl's comments had curbed Mesa's desire to flee the scene.

He advanced on her stiffly, staring at her eye-to-eye; if they were adults then it would've been a challenge of some kind, but as they were both children, it was more like he was barely containing a tantrum. But he wouldn't back down - for Stigmata's sake.