Lost Creek Hollow forfeited

As he stalks forward with unknown intent, Mengu stiffens, ears flattening and head bowing even lower in compliance. For a moment, he's convinced the man is about to attack, and braces for the sting of teeth or the brunt of a shoulder charge. It never comes, however, and he risks a peek up at the tall male's face. He had missed the fleeting look of malice within his burning gaze, but still keeps his muscles tense. Ever ready.

His question caused a single ear to swivel towards him, and Mengu shifts his weight in trepidation. It was not often he was shown kindness, or offered the chance to hunt with another. He was not a skilled hunter at large game, though often watched from the sidelines as the horde took down the giant beasts who roamed the plains of the Khorasan. Smaller creatures, however, were his specialty. Those easy to fool with traps and lures. It was how his small pack — before the Luk clan had raided their lands — survived.

Interest piqued by Tulimaq's comment, Mengu glanced back up, only for his attention to be stolen by the leaves the man now idly played with. He did not doubt the stranger's hunting abilities; the slave had seen just how capable even those with lankier forms fared. He would be lying if he said he wasn't hungry — their travels had been arduous — but habit forced him to give a small shake his head. "No, sir," he said. To reveal hunger was to invite a beating. I'll give you something to complain about, was Olzii's resounding reply if he had ever expressed as such.

"Will hunt," he added, however, with a lift of his head. "For clan."