[j] conquistador

“Siku's branch,” The hunter offered the ebony woman his straight forward reply. The exchange of words was not appearing to work much in Kingumut's favor, which while it made perfect sense to him in regards to his total lack of regard for them he understood that he felt as if they were talking in circles. The questions asked and his answers provided, but his unwilligness to put stock in language aside from body language he felt the frusteration tug at him when his answers did not seem to satisfy. Perhaps he simply didn't understand. Kingumut knew his role in Tartok, he did his job, whatever Siku — and when they left her to settle in another branch with their Uncle as their “leader” — had asked of him. “To settle,” The same thing he had told the ivory woman. “My two brothers, our Uncle and myself. He pushes us to move so that we can find a branch to settle in.” To say that Kingumut knew Uncle's reasons for the push to move branches would be a lie. He didn't pretend to know why the older male pushed them to it; only that he did and they obeyed. Surely, the older warrior had his reasons and it was likely little more than the sake that they were family, and that his uncle knew more things about Tartok than Kingumut could ever aspire to know. His stories were grand things, if not overtold. Though Kingumut knew himself to be capiable (or perhaps assumed himself to be?) there was a part of him that wished his Uncle was there right now. Things would have surely gone much smoother. Kingumut had not been graced with a love of words and it currently showed; but he was a Hunter not a wordsmith.