Is It Edible?

His walk is a slow amble, a gait that is still sore. His skin is still crisp and reddened from the flames that have scorched him, he still smells like the acrid sharpness of smoke and ash, and his gait is stiff and pained. But these are things that will pass with time, and for now, he seeks only the solace and comfort of cooling waters and a well-filled stomach. He is under no impression that he will be able to hunt for valid prey in this condition, and fishing, while viable and likely killing two birds with one stone--requires water that he is currently not near. And so, a scowl creases his scarred face as he continues onward with his ambling shuffle, step step step.
Perhaps it is his sheer force of presence that alerts the pig-thing, and with surprise, it shoots up and waddles quickly off into the underbrush, unfortunately having frightened away the pup's meal inadvertently.

It is however, not in his nature to apologize, nor has he even taken note of her presence beyond a somewhat passing recognition. And then he returns his gaze to her, in her direction, acidic gaze boring into her own with a sharpness that seemed to cut through the air like a knife-- the tension nearly tangible in the space before them.

"...Čo?" he huffs, his voice hoarse. His tongue lolls out from between his teeth, his lips wrinkled slightly--twitching, prepared to peel away from sore and burned gums at a moment's notice, for he is ever on edge and ever alert. Perhaps he would be unable to fight, but he would not go down easy. Perhaps one day he'd learn that not all needed to be met with scorn and suspicion. But, alas, today was not that day, and young though she may have been, he is under no misconceptions that youth is equal to inexperience, and never would he underestimate a potential opponent based upon appearances alone.



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"The Rubble Of Our Sins"