Nocturne Summit Kurayami

God, he really was a bard.

Fuck no! Kapros was fine with a little booty sniffing as a friendly hello, but he had standards.

He looked to the dead thing and tried to ease his racing, panic-filled pulse to something a little less manic. Thoughts of shiny red meat and the taste of sweet fat. It helped.

How about this... Kapros drawled as he thought aloud, staring at the near-to-bursting belly of the sprawled deer, not a coarse hair out of place.

We make a game of it. Take turns shovin' that nose somewhere else, his buggy eyes widened as his brow raised up, and tossed his head to indicate the newly dead.

Winner gets the meat. Loser keeps their guts for garters.