Haunted Wood yn blath que me darienn

the meat, dandelion realizes, isn't the freshest admittedly but at least there wasn't maggots crawling 'round within it; it's a step up. not a big step; more like a reluctant baby step but as a beggar dandelion knows his predicament doesn't exactly warrant for him to be picky. movement catches his attention — for the balladeer is alert, mostly for the woman captive because he is not going to be sharing this slab of old meat thankyouverymuch — but it comes from above; atop the walls of the pit a head pops over the edge like a comical meerkat poking it's head out of its hole.

details are lost to dandelion's gaze as the sun casts the face mostly in shadow but the voice suggests a youth. not yet in his puberty. how amusing, the balladeer thinks. he peers at his hind leg, stretched out carefully as to not disturb the careful mussing of fur ( as if that was the worst of his worries! ) and examines it as one might examine their nails with a small hum in his throat.

❝hm, yes. quite lovely isn't it? her handiwork, i mean.❞ unable to quell his sarcasm even here in a muddy pit as regarded about as well as rat shit. ❝i do believe it shall scar... providing it doesn't get infected and kill me.❞ oh! such a cheerful thought. ❝she a friend of yours, lad?❞ dandelion asks conversely, taking another small bite of the meat; trying to remember to save it.