It’s been over a week since his banishment. Spinister had done his best to repair Tarn’s injured knee, but his wrecked throat was more complicated. Though, lately, his clicks and wheezes have almost begun to resemble words. Enough that on occasion he can squeeze out a painful sounding word or two before it dissolves into useless static.

Tarn has taken to leaving his shelter to escape companion's contemptuous gaze more and more frequently. He’s found a formation of rocks, sheltered from prying eyes and secluded enough in the wastes that he hasn’t considered the possibility of guest.

Rampage’s taunting call rouses him from his morose thoughts and he stiffens with apprehension. With no weapon and no voice, he is having a difficult time convincing himself to reveal himself to his adversary.

However, weakened or no, he refused to hide like a coward. Tarn gathers to his feet, making his way out of the rocks to face Rampage head on.

He has a limp, but his head is held high and proud as he locks eyes with the beastformer.