Wheeling Gull Isle She's spending every weekend at my place

Those that remained were slowly getting to work tidying up the place, and Titmouse wasn't going to stand by and watch as everyone put in the work. He'd been laying low since his arrival and when the storm hit, it was like a wake-up call. It felt like the storm came just after his return as a reminder of where he belonged (deep in the sea), and there was a thought that it could've been an omen. Maybe he'd brought the storm with him? But he wouldn't lend much credence to such speculation, he had to keep thoughts of Sithis and Blackfeather out of his mind lest he think of Maegi and be distracted in to stagnation again.

The hustle and bustle of the pack got him moving, more or less. He could see shapes moving across the beach or through the trees, and followed after some of them while diligently trying to clear away debris. His toils were not very successful. Titmouse had never been physically strong despite his size, and after everything he'd been through in his short life, he hadn't gotten any better. But he saw a burly looking boy struggling with a particularly large branch, and moved to help him.

As he got closer, he saw that the wolf was struggling to get a good hold; yet he managed to drag the debris pretty far, and Titmouse wondered if he'd be any help at all — so he hung back, looking surreptitiously for another job to do.