Fishblight Mire Reptile

Amused, Nails loosed a chuff half way between a chortle and a sneer. "Better things, huh?" Brows raised, Nails couldn't deny a loose sense of curiosity. It wasn't often that a stranger captured his attention, but he was a sucker for a well told yarn. "Go on then, spill." Surely, whatever he bought with his own body and blood had value, be it terratory, a woman, a pack. He wanted to dig, to root around until he found a suitable place in which he could sink his little leach teeth.

He would have to settle eventually, better it be with one he found entertaining.

When the stranger sought his name, Nails smirked. "A few," he answered, turning his gaze away toward the bog. He'd been called many names -- Nails, Flynn, Arnette -- so many that it was often hard to keep them straight. "Call me Nails," he said then and he turned his gaze back to the stranger. There was no harm he supposed using his birth name. His brothers had scattered, his family far, far away.