Sun Mote Copse Candy-colored fingers and schadenfreude eyes

Snap, snap snap. Chew chew chew, spit. Grass sometimes settled his stomach when it was upset, or so he'd learned in his travels, and in this case it did little more than exacerbate his already burning frustration.

Reyes grabbed at one cluster of tall grass and then another, uprooting small patches until he came to one darker cluster, and upon scything his teeth through it he realized his mistake: garlic scapes. He'd chomped through some wild-growing stalks and the bitter flavor rioted across his tongue.

As he huffed and spat this last terrible thing out, someone called out a greeting. Not being in a very sociable mood, Reyes ignored it; but the stranger was not dissuaded. They came striding closer until Reyes finally paid heed.

I'm Eljay, the pack's caretaker. The stranger introduced themselves, smiling thinly, appearing quite friendly - as well as marginally concerned. 

This wasn't what Reyes had anticipated. He glared at the stranger, snapping, I'm just peachy. Did Niamh send you? The boy's tone was accusatory, a stab in the dark. Before Eljay could answer, Reyes was going off again.

She was the one that attacked me. I'm fine. Over it, done. Find someone else's head to shrink. He did not want someone poking around in his, at any rate.