Kintla Flatlands But Death Had Caught You in a Bad Mood

The stone clattered, stumbled, and skittered towards the edge, unguided and unintentional in its wake, in its path, splintering and bringing fragments and dust in its suit.
 
It disappeared over the ledge.
 
And with it—
 
A shout.
 
Indecipherable in meaning to Daighre’s ears.
 
He stalked towards the ledge, his head held low, in line with his shoulders, and his gaze annoyed. Like it was the bastard’s fault below for being in the way of a falling—kicked—rock. His tail lashed behind him as he peered over the lip and onto the ground below.
 
What he saw didn’t particularly impress him.
 
“What.” He demanded, more annoyed and frustrated than he was caring. Speak right was the unspoken meaning of his words, of his tone.