Bearclaw Valley saying you're to blame

And so the onslaught began— Taylor watches it go down from his mental nuclear bunker. Wave after wave, the lights on the ceiling trembling and sputtering. He knows that it was a stupid thing to do, he knows that any sane man would've just took the stranger by his hand and led him down to the Valley on his spurred boots, but it had already happened. Guilt worms a hole through him. Huh. Hadn't felt that one in a while.
A slow inhale. 'm sorry. To you. And him. And Ursus. Toad's remark is only salt to the wound, but he bites the inside of his cheek, and flicks his ear as if to cast it off. We really are spine breakers, aren't we.
Shame and hatred and confusion roll around inside of him like grit on a riverbed, tossed up by convection currents, but he looks repentant and sullen enough on the outside, a look he had learned well from his brother.