A Moment Is All We Are

The moonlight showed the trifecta of colors that this woman was made of, followed by the chainmail across her chest was all that was needed. His sea-green orb flared in the moonlight as he gazed down upon her from the cold rock he stood on. It would seem his body was being examined thoroughly, simply tilting his skulls to follow her eyes. There was but a brief moment where he too looked at the scars upon his right leg, twisting the appendage to take notice at how many he had gained. It's been so long.  Each scar brought back the past, every kill, every soul taken from its master. The rattling of metal rang in his ear and his harsh glare landed back upon her. There she was exposing the nasty chest wound to the world, before dropping the metal back over it to hide it.

"How adorable."

" Where’d you find that then?"

She had motioned to the kill between his legs, looking down at it himself before looking back at her. "Why, I called it to me. Dispatching it was easier than attracting it." The tone that bled from his tongue held no excitement, no emotion.... merely a monotone of words, kicking it off the rock he would knock it down to her. "Go on and have it. I'm not hungry anyway. Killing it was the only thing I wanted." His thoughts went back to her scar and he decided to get on her level. Paws would scrape the rock as he fell down to her, white powder exploding into the air around him.

His journey would carry him down to a nose length away, eying the metal across her chest but also hid the wound from the world. "Why do you hide it? Was that supposed to make me feel some type of way? These questions didn't have curiosity in them. No, they were just blunt questions. Something like a parent asking a child. "Did you want me to feel sympathy? If so, I don't feel anything. If anything you're wrong for hiding it." His tail drug in the snow behind him as he journeyed down her left side. "A fighter should never hide a scar, especially with armor. Armor doesn't protect. It hinders. The right weapon can pierce any armor." A deep growl vibrated within his throat as the flesh atop his muzzle wrinkled itself, baring his blood-caked ivory fangs in her direction. "You wearing that armor is an insult to a true fighter."

He would be wrong in saying that he didn't wish to pick a fight with a packie, but then that would be calling him a liar. Although it wasn't the fighting he wanted, no his mere wish was to hunt down a worthy kill. "Where are you from, girl?"