*You sense the presence of Sage behind you, the crackling and ozonic smell unmistakable.* "Sage, did anyone ever tell you that you smell like a TV turning on? Because you do. Really takes me back to my youth, honestly. Nothing like a good old cathode ray tu--" "Father." Sage interrupts flatly. "Now is not the time to get caught up in primitive technology. In 1,700,049 of 1,700,050 predicted futures where you continue this line of thought, you will do so for long enough that the hedgehog will escape." She chides gently. "I come bearing a report I believe you will find most interesting. The hedgehog has expressed interest in a truce, of sorts." She murmurs contemplatively. "I believe his exact words were: 'If that poindexter could get his head out of his egg, I bet we could bust outta here no problem.'. What are your thoughts, Father?" She waits, staring at you with expectant, smolderingly red eyes.