He'd been here before, lying in a pool of his own blood, watching Louie run away. The stain was still there, wide and faded, and Priest toed at it curiously, watching the red flake away from stone. His cane sat holstered at his side, given up in favor of the slower but quieter method - dragging along on three legs, sticking to the shadows. The numbat had no wish to meet any of the Merry Men again... any but Iliad. The mole fox was in danger, would be until he was far, far away from his "family." More importantly, the longer he stayed, the more they would break him - mold him into nothing but a tool to be used and thrown away.

Priest's cloudy eye narrowed, stopping just outside of the entrance to Monoceros proper, taking in the expansive cave only feet away. Louie was, no doubt within, along with Magdalena - and their little lackeys. The numbat grimaced, snout wrinkling in distaste, only debating a moment before climbing up to one of the tiny ledges that littered the tunnel. He'd be safe from physical attacks, at the very least; even the thought of going through another round of whatever poison the fox had sewn into him the first time made his vision swim.

Patient. He had to be patient. One day, when his flock was big enough, strong enough, they would be able to protect every child being abused, held captive by those who should love them unconditionally. He would be the hero that should have helped him at one cycle, two, five. He would find his strength. Until then, the scribe would rely on luck, taking the chance to simply watch the hive of the Merry Men, absently pulling charred fur from scarred skin and blowing it away.