Otter Creek sleep, soldier

Water dripped from every angle. The sun would come to warm his back, but without the ability to shake properly he would remain enmeshed in his slicked fur. As he stood there feeling the initial tendrils of spring's warmth spreading, it was possible to see the boyish figure he happened to wield.

Drusk was a tall thing, had always been that way. Gavrel had once described him as racy and that wasn't far off the mark. He had a runner's build, but because of the height and a lifestyle of scavenging it was clear this wasn't by choice. His body retained only as much muscle as it required for such a lifestyle; one had to be able to cut and run on a moment's notice.

The slapping of the fish drew his eye, and soon he was slinking closer, watching as the creature was dropped to the earth. It suffocated there. Drusk watched the energy burn through the fish in the form of myoclonic jerks without any feeling within himself.

The other man offered the fish to him, which was a surprise. Drusk did not need to translate that offer; he moved to loom over the head and sank his teeth in to a meaty cheek, peeling it apart with a few quick snaps, and withdrew afterwards to chew what he had torn free.