I'm afraid of your disease

For a while, Kevlyn didn't notice that he was being watched by the likes of reverend Jim Jones. He was far too preoccupied with his fin to even realize a raven was hopping toward him. It wasn't until the bird actually addressed him in a broken, guttural dialect that Kevlyn even noticed it... and when he did, he started with his hair rising into a ridge along his spine.

"Nothing," he said defensively, moving to stand over his fin with the incorrect notion that Bartok would stoop to stealing it. Nevermind that the raven wasn't really exhibiting the shifty behaviour of a thief, he was a raven and therefore, vermin in the Ostrega's eyes. This was aided as much by Kevlyn's narcissism as it was by a superiority complex he'd developed as a part of Ankyra Sound, and in fact, had almost nothing to do with any previous experience with thieving ravens.

"Scoot," he said with a muffled growl, allowing his stringy body to fall over the fin so that he was squishing it between the sand and his belly. He hoped that meant it was completely inaccessible to Bartok.