Ravenshook Cliffs compelled to write with aching fearful hands

it seemed as though the stranger wasn't too familiar with what was being requested of him, or he was thinking about turning himself around and abandoning the situation right quick. at least, this was what buckshot imagined was going through his mind when he turned his head back around and then fixed the cajun with a thoughtful expression. it was something of a surprise to hear that there was something like a bog, but it seemed as though it was a ways away from where they stood. buck didn't feel as though he could have been too shocked by that; the ocean never had lead to much swamp from what he'd seen in the past.

with that, the cajun was fine to keep trekking along his way. he'd gotten what he needed to know – for the most part – and his perception of the stranger was that he hadn't been too pleased to be stopped. while the fellow had been helpful in his directions, buckshot cast him a bit of frown when he'd mentioned that he didn't know why anyone would want to find themselves in a bog.

“well, when you was born in duh swamp, you feed duh need tuh go back,” he explained with a daft smile. it was home to him, after all. buckshot didn't need anyone to tell him that it wasn't their ideal destination. he'd heard it enough growing up from those who were raised on the outside. “ah sure do appreciate you's helpin' me,” the cajun added with a swift nod of his head. then, as though he were unsure about whether or not he was supposed to leave, buckshot stood there and shuffled his feet in place.