Blackfeather Woods I just needed a little off the top.

Misfortune didn't have to look far; it hit him, and it hit him hard.

The shape of a young wolf materialized in the dark and came zooming straight for him, like a bat out of hell. The stranger's movements weren't hard to predict. Even for Mou, with his one good eye, knew it was coming. He had ample time to move out of the way, but had half a mind to stay there and take the brunt of the attack—teeth or no teeth—but the kid didn't know the forest the way Mou did. There were roots in most places and gaps in others, and the pale boy watched as his assailant came careening out of the cover of the trees—through a shaft of pale light that penetrated the canopy—and crashed right in to Mou. No, there weren't any teeth. Just the crunching of two thick skulls; there was a sickening pop in there too but the ensuing confusion left the boy ignorant to the fact his stone-eye had come loose.

Mou was left reeling backwards. He knew every inch of this forest and should've positioned himself better—maybe near a pit—but he hadn't been thinking, just eager to trade one life for another. Now, with a series of tiny titmouse whizzing cartoonishly around his head, he was left to deal with this. The pain reminded him of that time he'd conked noggins with Niamh (and not in a sexy way), and it wasn't until the world stopped whipping around him in a blur that Mou realized—Screech realized—Titmouse, whoever he was, knew—he knew who this was.

This was that asshole kid, Tegan.

He remembered.