Sunbeam Lair ❝i am exhausted, i am exhausted— pillar of white in a blackout of knives.

A novel 4 u

He had fled, like always. Like the coward that he was. Paranoia had gotten the best of him and Diaspora's claim began to feel less like a safe zone and more like a trap. Thorn. It was his fault. How the brute had even found out about his attempt on Rannoch's life all those months ago was a mystery - at least, Redshank hadn't stuck around long enough to find out. And then he had ratted him out. As much as he admired Stigmata, he feared the man, and even if the General forgave misdeeds of the past Redshank was an irrational, impulsive sort and he wasn't willing to find out. So he fled.

Only to return weeks later in a state no worse off than before, claiming a nearby underground lair as his haunt. The boy hated the coast, had enemies in the forests and vales, but he knew these mountains, so that is where he stayed, regardless of the distance to Diaspora. He knew the pack was nomadic; they would move and soon there would be distance between them once more.

In the meantime, Redshank would simply avoid them and play the waiting game (struggling all the while to simply survive). He wasn't great at being a lone wolf, despite seeming to prefer this way of living. His ribs showed, his fur was matted, and he was in a constant state of crazed panic - a state that proved useful sometimes. Like now.

He heard her before he saw her. The soft footfalls of an intruder alerting him to her presence. It was not this that brought fourth a snarl, however, but the scent that hit him. It should not have been a surprise for one to come wandering down here - seeing as he essentially lived in Diaspora's basement - but Redshank would react with hostility all the same. Abandoning a splintered bone he had been chewing on deep in the bowels of the cavern, the Cairn stalked towards the source of the smell, releasing a rumble of a growl to warn off the interloper before she could have a chance to make her way any deeper into the cave.