The Heartwood Take the oxygen straight out of my own chest.

Confused and lost, Rosencrantz was not someone to swagger on over, tall and proud with a challenging glint in their eye. It was clear he did not welcome the unfamiliar man to come closer, a distinct hatred in his eye beamed toward the grey-scale gargoyle and grew with every step he took forward. Twisting his features was an ugly snarl, with every fiber of his being he warned the stranger for coming any closer, taking a step forward as to claim his own space while a rumbling vocalized his warnings from within his throat. 

Bristling while focussing on the stranger, did everything to try and scare off the man from approaching any further. Even in his state he didn't want to fight, the rage that bore deep within was more or less toward Rosencrantz himself - but he was always so terrible at hiding such a thing. Puffing himself out, making himself look larger, formidable, vicious as the teeth shone brilliantly in the light of day. He was a knight in clad in shining armour of course. 

Should he turn to make his way away from the stranger now, the man might chase after him, giving him an opening from behind... Rose felt forced to face the man until he backed off hopefully. Perhaps a month ago he would lept at the opportunity to fight, to pick one with this man in the ashen woods - but now, he was too tired. Too hungry. He wouldn't think straight. The man was defensive, and perhaps, should shit truly hit the fan... he might be a beast of instincts to try and save his own skin.