Dawnlark Plains i watched a change in you

No pressure to reply quickly! Set right outside of RR borders :) and also just wanted to say I love Deftones lol

As he and @Mulherin orbited further and further from the heart of the Rise, a restlessness budded inside of him. For a while there was nothing but the whisper of their legs through tall grass.

He was the sort of person who was pathologically avoidant of things he didn't reasonably do well in on the first attempt. As a child, he had gone on a hunting stake-out with his father which had ended in a failure of comedic proportions. This had effectively squashed any desire to practice it. Since then he had somehow stumbled through life by sponging and scavenging, illuminated by the occasional aureate stroke of luck.

So, he started, doing his best to conceal his anxiety, any tips and tricks for someone who couldn't catch a deer if it was a thousand years old?

It was to his eternal anguish that all the self-deprecatory jokes in the world would never make up for his objective lack of skill.

YAY *replies immediately*

He was hot on a hare's trail when Gavrel broke the silence. Mulherin turns his head to look at the Blod, wondering what thoughts has inspired him to speak.

Learn when'ta give up. And, don't hunt deer that're thousands of years old, they're obviously immortal or something. He replies, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. It gives him hope that the man had asked, in the least—he aspired to improve, and that was all he could ask for.

On a whim, he returns the question with another one,

You ever thought about healing? 

He made a face at Mulherin's (admittedly clever) quip. You're goddamn hilarious. Mental note to self: whenever you're in the mood to shoot the shit with anyone, make a beeline to Mulherin. As one of the few members of the Rise that freely spoke, it was unfortunately (or fortunately, if you were Gavrel) the mantle that the Berserkr had inadvertently assumed.

I'm alright at fishing. Though they stink up the cache like nothin' else.

If Gavrel were a human, he would definitely be making pilgrimages to the Bass Pro Shops Pyramid.

Healing! His exclamation came out louder than he meant it to; he quickly modulated his voice with a wince, down to a sharp near-whisper.

Who'd want a guy with a scar like this to be healing 'em? As far as he was concerned, it would be anti-advertisement. Forget it, I'll stop yapping and let you get to your hares.

For his part, he hunkered down in the grass, his narrowed eye scanning his surroundings for the usual telltale signs of prey.

Yeah, healing. He affirms, but soon doubts his own suggestion—too prideful to recant, he continues on. Half your face burned off but you're still alive. Tell'em ya fixed it yourself.

Imagining Gavrel being the one who would look after you in your dying hour was both hilarious and mildly terrifying. Gavrel himself seemed to think so too; loudly so.

Mulherin continues the banter anyway. Maybe stick to fishing. At least they don't have ears.

With a flick of his tail, he turns back around and starts walking again. There are rabbit burrows in the area—luckily for the Blod, he thinks he has a good idea of where they lay.

Actually I've never been in a thread like this before (hunting together, but not really together?). I think we can have like ... one round of them hunting separately before a rejoinder? Lmk what works for you ^_^

There were a thousand reasons that Gavrel couldn't be a healer, his bedside manner and injuries not withstanding. Besides, wasn't it sort of a girl's job?

He flashed a smile: Duly noted, and obliged Mulherin's quip about fish with a sharp huff of air through his nostrils.

Meet you here later? he asked. He would wait for an affirmation before peeling away from Mulherin in search of game easier to deal with than rabbits; their speed and neurotic, frenetic cautiousness had always unnerved him, as if they lived on a biological clock tuned to some insane, pitter-patter frequency.