there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin
Not for the first time in recent memory, Fox is left questioning his definition of the word monster, especially as man becomes wraith and the river star's presence is utterly annihilated from the living world. This time, at least, he knows the person responsible is none other than Mort's demigod, and as he returns to the shape of a curly-haired, green eyed man, the hunter allows himself to relax a fraction.
"Ought to get hazard pay for leaving the house at all these days," he agrees emphatically, testing his foot once more before finally committing to it. It'll be sore, but it's far from the worst injury he's ever had. "I'm sure," he assures the other man, straightening up away from the tree. "Thanks to you, anyway. I owe you one." He reaches out to shake the other man's hand. "Fox," he introduces.
"Ought to get hazard pay for leaving the house at all these days," he agrees emphatically, testing his foot once more before finally committing to it. It'll be sore, but it's far from the worst injury he's ever had. "I'm sure," he assures the other man, straightening up away from the tree. "Thanks to you, anyway. I owe you one." He reaches out to shake the other man's hand. "Fox," he introduces.
Fox Sinclair
Horns: Small, bone-like protrusions (aka your stereotypical devil horns) that are easy to miss in his hair.
