Redtail Rise parasite

The trail had long been lost to him, and his prey had likely gone to ground. It was embarrassing to have been laid low by the likes of him, and to have the imprint of the scoundrel's teeth ringing his ankle, burning, sometimes, when it was not cold enough to be numb.

Blood gathered on his hip still, the scab gone crusty and thick as it was continually agitated. That one never went numb, but the persistent ache and sharp pull of poorly healing flesh didn't affect his stride or bearing. It did affect his pride, but that was only for him to know.

The bounty hunter sniffed along the borders, investigating the many scents there, and the stories that they told. One scent in particular seemed to have gone stale — a deserter? Did they want her tracked down and brought back to face whatever passed for justice in these lands?

And what might they offer in exchange?

He rubbed his cheek against a tree as he passed, leaving his calling card to be found. Another, and then another, and then he veered away from the borders in search of somewhere to rest. A dry patch of ground under thick canopy seemed serviceable — but he clawed at the ground a little, carving out a shallow dish.