Duck Lake nothing left to lose

It was increasingly hard, try as Ira might, to ignore the loud and seemingly random outburst from the ducks, ruining his peaceful daydreaming though they had not held anything in particular or specific. It was abrupt the shattering of them, like glass exploding into a thousand small and sharp shards. Silver tipped hackles bristled in his annoyance, irises of ice followed the sharp inclination of his head, pupils narrowing in further irritation as he shot a searing look at the birds with the hopes of catching their feathers on fire with the intensity of his harsh gaze, only to wrinkle his nose in disgust as the scent of the other male drifted his way on the breeze. It was a scent that sometimes clung to Jinx, though Ira had never met his guardian’s Shaman though he had heard mention of him. Jinx’s Shaman or not, Ira couldn’t help that his ire then turned to the elderly, blood, mud, and grass covered male. For a moment, Ira couldn’t help but stare wondering if there was something wrong with him - and furthermore remained inherently puzzled at what Jinx thought was so great that she had spoken so highly of Lecter in Ira’s presence.

Ira was not impressed.

Brazenly, the insolent Princeling rose and made his way towards the other who had the neck of a duck clasped securely in his jaws. Ira suppressed a shudder of further disgust fairly certain that ducks probably tasted filthy, too, though he did not know because he refused to eat them. The other male’s gaze was cold upon him as the insolent Princeling drew nearer, but Ira did not care. “You are the Shaman Jinx speaks of?” Ira demanded breaking his silence, speaking over the protesting squabbling of the heathens.