Deepwood Weald So lovely on the eyes.

In his short life Tywyll had never known hardship. He had never been hungry to the extent that he was willing to beg, like right now. He had never needed to sculp any of his skills, because he had a large family and there was always someone else doing the heavy lifting; if not, then there was always a full cache for him to dig up and pilfer. Similarly, he had never encountered any adult that wasn't willing to help him in some way - thus, the casual dismissal of his needs came as a shock. At first he felt the sting of the stranger's denial, and selfishly thought to himself, but I am here, right now! He didn't know what to say, or what to do, which might change the other's refusal in to an agreement. Tywyll's head tilted slightly to one side (like those videos of puppies listening to music), one batty ear turned to catch her voice until there was nothing, and it was up to him to decide the next move.

Tywyll hadn't paid much attention to the plateau's borders either, so he didn't know what the proper protocol was for people like him. How did the adults handle strangers that utilized similar pleas? The boy could only frown - he had no idea, so he resorted to protesting with a whine, But -- but where? I'm hungry now. What about -- he took a step closer to her, his eyes bright with expectation, what about a cache? I won't eat it all, he promised, really, he would leave something! But maybe that wasn't enough?

The boy's mind slowly formed some kind of plan, and whatever she said as a response would be cut short by his next words: I'll replace what I eat! Or um, I'll double it? He didn't sound so certain of himself now but his expression was still shining with hope.