"Try AM 1710. It's the only monster-run station around." And with that, Parker opened the trailer door to slip out. "'Night."

Hawk folded out the tiny crank on the back of the radio, turning it a few times to charge it. He leaned back for a moment, wings spread out hap-hazardly on either side of him, and then leaned forward again over the radio, turning it on and bringing forth a wash of static.

The soft voice of a radio commentator over a bad signal, voice undercut by a hiss of noise, woke Teige. With some effort he rolled his great horned head over towards Hawk, his eyes just cranky glowing slits.

"Mate, c'mon, it ent even three AM," he groused. Hawk was on the floor beside the couch again, now obscured by one wing folded over him. Teige grabbed the edge of his wing and lifted it to peer underneath. "I thought we were done with this radio shit--"

He broke off because Hawk was clearly asleep, head buried in the crook of his arm, shoulders hunched, as though he'd passed out halfway through running his fingers fretfully through his hair. The radio sat next to his head, pointed directly at him, as though speaking quietly just to him.

Teige looked at this for a moment. The radio was murmuring about a group of all-wulver musicians, and then the commentary gave way to a soft string of wavery music. Teige huffed, and then turned his head back over to look at the ceiling without another word.