Whitefish River Old Friends, New Tragedies

Another approached, at first he didn't recognize the cinnamon man and only felt defensive. With hackles raised and letting the gore on his face speak for itself, he turned to watch him with his good eye. Void of emotion other than hatred, at least his vision was more clear now, both his head and eye less in a blur from the surger of adrenalin that coursed through his veins over the last while to keep him moving. Keep him alive. 

With a squint, he listened to the cinnamon titan and then it all clicked. Aristos, one of Rhaella's followers, Connor. The man was kind the last time they met, they even had a heart to heart - but was he still loyal to that bitch. A growl formed in his throat, warning the man to not approach any further unless he wanted some kind of unpleasantry. Even with his nose clogged of mucus and blood, he tried to sniff at the air. He could be nose blind, but he couldn't smell Raella on him.

Raella, are you still loyal? After speaking, he snorted, substance oozing from his nose as he tried to clear it from the stuffy sensation that clogged it just enough to be bothersome. A mixture of clear and red ran down his nose - it didn't help with his sense of smell.

He wanted to be certain first, certain that if they spoke she would not appear again.