Ankyra Sound shovels & keys

she takes off, presumably to bring him a meal — he might've protested but he doubted it would do much good. she seemed rather hellbent on helping him.

so, as she hunts, he preoccupies himself with finding as clean of a puddle of rain as he could find. at first, he drinks so much, sating a thirst that felt unquenchable until he threw it all up — turning his head away from the puddle with a quickness that saved him from having to find another.

velaryon tries again.

slower he laps at the water, this time.

it does not feel like enough, but having learnt that lesson he does not push it.

he turns at the sound of her footfalls; the scent of blood pungent on the air. finally, something other than the salty stench of the sea.

his stomach rumbles and twists at the sight of the squirrels she brings. i'll take that one, he gestures to the mangled one. you eat the other. he tries to not deepen his debt to her, despite that she has told him ( time and again ) that the debt was paid.

perhaps, velaryon thinks, she is a siren and that the sea's debt was her's. or maybe she was taking pity on him. he doesn't try to contemplate what her reasons might be; fixing her in his golden gaze, almost daring her to challenge his decision to let her take the less mangled one.