Moonspear And the chickens how they rattle chicken chains

While he ate, he wondered how long it might take for his ribs to heal. The journey back up the mountain's slope had been arduous, and he'd had to grit his teeth the whole way to keep himself from crying out when he occasionally took a misstep. He was content now, as long as he was free to take some time to heal- and he felt that in the very least, his injuries had been sustained on the return from a fruitful and considerate mission to aid someone in need. After the first couple of days living on the mountain, he'd come to the conclusion that eventually, he would take a tumble and injure himself- so he was glad, in an odd way, that his first injury had been received while on the job...And not because he'd simply lost his footing. 

He lifted his gaze when he saw a pale, hazy figure step into view. She looked almost hesitant in nature, as it was with great care that she moved, and came to a wordless stop not far away from him. Unlike the pallid hen before him, however, Bronco lacked both couth and decorum, and was generally more casual with his greetings. "Oh, hey-AHHFRACK!" He called, but was quickly reminded that raising his voice meant exertion- and caused his ribs to ache sharply. "Sorry." He apologized, his voice much softer with the not-so-gentle reminder that he couldn't just shout without facing painful repercussions. "I don't think we've met yet," A rhetorical statement, given the fact that he was absolutely certain they hadn't crossed paths yet...But he floundered at trying to start a conversation with that approach anyway. "I'm Bronco...An' sorry about that, I uh...I think I bruised my ribs and...Forgot that yelling hurts." He admitted sheepishly.