"You can eat young cattail shoots while they're still green -- try preparing them like you would asparagus."

     “Hey, Shadow.”

     From his position atop the cargo bed, Sonic stands with arms crossed, very displeased. A cloud of dust begins to settle around the large truck, now tipped on it’s side after the inertia — a simple spindash being all it took to cut clean through the connector. The convoy grinds to a halt somewhere behind them, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. All he’s focused on is the other hedgehog who, in his mind, has some explaining to do…

     … though, in fairness, this isn’t exactly how he’d expected them to meet again. The Starfall Islands aren’t known for their ease of access; an archipelago far removed from any country, a mere drop in the ocean. Aside from Eggman, they’d been untouched for centuries before the arrival of his friends and him, and he wanted it to stay that way when they left.

     But something was calling to him. For weeks it’d been stirring, an unrelenting depth in his chest — out of his control. It was a pull; some kind of invisible string keeping him tethered to those islands, over great distance, sea and land both. As if all the energy in the world was there, and… he needed to be, too.

     Thankfully, piloting the Tornado was much like riding a bike in the sense he never really forgot how. A day’s trip and a highly tuned GPS found him coasting above the shoreline of Kronos Island, feeling that call inside him stir with vigour. And though Sonic had no expectations, unsure of what he’d find, the sight below completely blindsided him.

     Trucks. Cranes. Tents. Weapons. An excavation underway, one he immediately thought to contribute to Eggman… but a certain starred logo tells a different story.

     He landed the Tornado on a quieter part of the island and ran the second his feet met solid ground. It was a quick journey that made him progressively more furious — survey tools littered the land, from the smallest shovel to the largest drill. It was disrespectful. It was cruel. He’d expect nothing less from G.U.N.

     A sudden trail of orange in his periphery had been cause enough to change path. He knew that sound. And so he followed, catching up in no time and introducing himself in the loudest way possible. Sonic begins to tap his foot impatiently, looking down at Shadow with a look that embodies all his anger.

     Sonic never looks before he leaps; not in battle, not in life... and definitely not into bed, which is to say he doesn't notice the box until he's already flopped on top of it. One corner wedges into him on impact and he shoots up immediately, a spasm of pain (and surprise) contorting his face. Initially, the mind blames a certain two-tailed roommate — it wouldn't be the first time he's left something here, and it won't be the last, but the wrapping paper throws his decision. Tails isn't known for having black and white tastes.

     He repositions to sit cross-legged on the hammock, box in hand, twisting it every which way for inspection. It's wrapped so delicately that he almost feels bad for tearing it open. Almost; because whatever's inside is more important. Sonic handles it's contents, both note and bag, with a sincere amount of care. He doesn't recognize the handwriting, but the message... he easily smiles before placing it aside.

     Over countless years of adventuring, the idea of a compass has never crossed his mind. Sonic follows the wind, and the wind always takes him where he needs to go — when in doubt, the north star has been a steady companion. But this is a gift, one wrapped in love and gold, and he wonders who wants him to come home.