No wonder Beck was a restless spirit; he couldn't catch himself a break between the obnoxious whining for his attention and struggling to keep track of all the ignorant creatures he was responsible for. He was grossly under-prepared for the role, if it wasn't obvious already, but somehow he was staying afloat through nothing less than a miracle. One of his methods to preserving what little sanity he had left was keeping himself distracted with busy work throughout the day. The boy had been trying to clean his dagger, usually rubbing away at the crimson stains with his injured paw -- needless to say, he wasn't making much progress without the aid of soap or water. He was tempted to just give up and lick the blood off the blade -- his toxic spit did contain cleaning chemicals, after all -- as a last resort, but a familiar snobbish howl shrieking out his name caught him terribly off-guard. Nearly jumping out of his apparition, Beck frantically glanced around for the source, lantern-like eyes stretched wider than glowing saucers until they locked onto Rosepaw's blurred silhouette. Oh, he had been wondering where she had gotten off to. In all honesty, he hoped she had been swallowed up by a convenient sinkhole. Flicking his notched ear, the spindly feline fluffed out his pelt, dark fur bristling with grime as he tilted his head towards her direction. Cut out her tongue, Becky, then she won't annoy us anymore. His freckled features twisted into an exasperated grimace, and turning away from her, he meekly grumbled, "Don't call me Becky."

    Glimpsing a groggy Fenrisulfr peeking out at the scene, Beck did his best to ignore her, twirling the tip of his dagger on his gauze-wrapped paw pad. When the dainty wolf finished her ranting, he swiveled his head back around to glower up at her. Hell swamp? Curses? What was she rambling about? "Maybe if ya quit your wanderin' off alone to who knows where, and actually, uh, helped out 'round here, then my 'damn swamp' would stop tryin' t' kill ya," the commander wheezed, a hollow sigh escaping his chest with a damaged rattle and a bored eye-roll. It wasn't that hard to understand; if someone went into the swamp alone, they were likely to end up lost and, yes, covered in mud. Beck gave a hoarse sniff, wiping his inky nose on the back of his paw before asking, "Look, what d'ya even want from me? I'm kinda busy, if ya can't tell," A muddied paw waggled his blood-stained dagger at her muzzle to emphasize his point.