there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin
Having been around things that are a great deal stronger than him quite a bit, Fox knows better than to give any arbitrary help to Mort's demigod that's probably not needed in the slightest. Instead he wisely keeps back, leaning one dirty hand against a mossy tree trunk and testing out his weight on the leg that had caught on the root. Wisely, though, he keeps a close eye on what's happening, if for no other reason than to tell the story to Kiada later. (But if he learns a thing or two as well from Remi, all the better).
"I absolutely don't," he tells him gruffly, a wolfish grin flashing across his face. "It isn't anything I've got a mark on. Just came lumbering out of the woods at me." Which, given what he knows of regular river stars, is better than dropping on his head. But he still won't lose any sleep to see the thing dispatched.
"I absolutely don't," he tells him gruffly, a wolfish grin flashing across his face. "It isn't anything I've got a mark on. Just came lumbering out of the woods at me." Which, given what he knows of regular river stars, is better than dropping on his head. But he still won't lose any sleep to see the thing dispatched.
Fox Sinclair
Horns: Small, bone-like protrusions (aka your stereotypical devil horns) that are easy to miss in his hair.
