Moonspear titles are hard ok

The burn of the acid in his throat made him cough softly, which he tried to control as the queen approached. She gingerly enough avoided the mess he'd made and as she settled beside him, he found he could not raise his eyes to look at her; she was powerful, she had always been this almost-sinister figure in his life and he was deeply afraid of her, but also deeply intrigued; she was impressive for her youth and her overall prowess, but it was like being approached by a hungry lioness—if he moved too fast, or drew her attention with his eyes, would she strike? Her voice did not hold any hostility though, and eased some of his nerves.

I- hic I am. The smell of blood was so tantalizing to him now, but the sour bile in his mouth was too much. He slid down to his belly, lethargically dragging his stilted limbs through the dirt in the process, and gathered some snow to himself. It was pink with blood; that wasn't why he was drawn to it though, and as he began to snap at the pile he felt the chill of it, the strange sensation of the melt, and spat it out after. His mouth felt a little bit better after that, but he still didn't have an appetite.

I'll gather it up and cache it, he offered after a second or two of drawn silence, and finally glanced at her with some care; was she hungry? Did she want it? It was one measly hare, but if he didn't prepare it soon for burial it would go to waste, he knew that.