The Sentinels Whispering words,

Sunhawk would bother. His very existence hinged on bothering. If Sunhawk had one career choice, one trade in which to shill out a vocation, it was bothering. He was great at bothering. The best, even. Ask Anyone (like Bigwig) how great his bothering could be.

Pinning the rangy loner with a squint, Sunhawk had to hide the quailing of his legs as Lionel turned and sized each of them up like they were Chicken Nuggets in a HappyMeal. Sunhawk put on a brave face as he held Umbra up, but he wasn't counting on his face earning him any friends. It was pretty ugly, as a matter of fact, given all the abuse that had happened to it lately.

A challenge glinted in Lionel's gaze - a smarter man might have ignored it or skirted around it. A man like Sunhawk was neither smart nor diplomatic. He saw a hole, and he put his paw down into it. That's just math.

"You're right. How silly of me to forget my manners. Let me try again now that you're nice and close." Sunhawk exchanged an apologetic glance with Umbra, before he pushed her upright and took a step forward. He threw back his head, inhaled Seagull Style, and bellowed: "HEY!! GET BACK HERE AND HELP US, YOU YELLOW BACKED WEASEL!!"

Despite his poor condition, his voice was loud and carried. Inhaling again, Sunhawk delivered Lionel a broad and staggeringly cheeky beam. "So, would ya help? Name's Sunhawk -- and this here frightening lady goes by the name of Umbra. Got a name, besides Weasel? Maybe Skulking Badger or angry-eyed Eagle?"