Permafrost Hollows 弱い人

Isao stands guard as the boy takes his fill. those gentle eyes of his oft flitting upward, making the samurai exhale a puff of amusement. he was not in the business of stealing food from boys, nor would he chase him off. he watches with what may be disinterest, waiting with virtue patience for the boy's stomach to become full. would it ever though, with how the boy pecks at the flesh like a bird?

"hmph." he grunts. brows drawn together as shaded eyes assess the pitiful wolf before him. cleaning his paws as if he was a cat. odd, is the word that comes to mind. he does not eat his fill with brutish intent; he savors it, while still trying to make out the engima that is his company tonight. the boy smells of others; it both sooths him and flares a red flag. it was good he had a group to care for him, bad that they'd let this boy out of their sights. not all were friendly enough to share a kill without sinister intentions.

when he is finished, he rises again. turns to face his company with a judgemental stare. it is clear his native tongue is not understood, and so he struggles to speak common tongue. a practice still new, picked up from his years spent traveling. "why you alone?" fragmented, broken. "fool. dangerous for boys."