They say I'm a dangerous man, better run fast as you can
As she begins to explain, the butcher finds himself not waiting to see the potential bitterness that could come from Flora’s words before his expression shifts to take it on for her. He doesn’t know the intricacies, but it’s clear it doesn’t bother Flora all that much these days, even though it bothers Asta that she’d had to be kept close for her safety.
He takes a slow deep breath, grounding himself as he nods his understanding. “If it helps, I did not know my mother nor my father. I was taught to hunt by an elder.” Taken in by the head matriarch as he was, he’d learned everything he’d known from the woman that ruled with what seemed like strict rules (when she wasn’t losing her mind and contradicting herself). And at that point, Asta had been the youngest to learn.
Regardless, she seems pleased with the idea of hunting with him, and so the butcher pats her hand in quiet murderous delight, the agreement almost as immediate as is his change in directory once they reach the junction. Turning left, the two of them are greeted with thicker trees, the paths growing less well worn from foot traffic. “Yes, I am quite lucky and fortunate.” He agrees, his tone a touch softer as he thinks about it. But he doesn’t dwell on it long as he tilts his head toward her with a twitch of a grin. “It still surprises me, if I am honest.”
They drift further in, and the butcher remains loose and on edge as he listens to the surrounding woods. Since greets them, as does some tired bird calls and the quiet croaks of a frog. But when a twig snaps, the butcher perks up, steps hesitating as he pinpoints the direction of the crack despite the echo. “You are welcome to join me, darling. If my hearing is to be believed, we have a lone wolf ahead.” He whispers, loosening the hold on her arm as he reaches to snag a pair of daggers from his ankles. Their blades glint in the lowlight of the trees as he combines them into one hand so he might be able to further loosen the already loose shirt he wears.
Growing silent and pinpointing the sound once more, he holds up his hand toward Flora in a 3… 2… 1. When the count down is finished, the butcher moves. Each step prepped and ready, already reaching (and slicing) for the bloodbane to incapacitate the wolf before they break into line of sight.
He takes a slow deep breath, grounding himself as he nods his understanding. “If it helps, I did not know my mother nor my father. I was taught to hunt by an elder.” Taken in by the head matriarch as he was, he’d learned everything he’d known from the woman that ruled with what seemed like strict rules (when she wasn’t losing her mind and contradicting herself). And at that point, Asta had been the youngest to learn.
Regardless, she seems pleased with the idea of hunting with him, and so the butcher pats her hand in quiet murderous delight, the agreement almost as immediate as is his change in directory once they reach the junction. Turning left, the two of them are greeted with thicker trees, the paths growing less well worn from foot traffic. “Yes, I am quite lucky and fortunate.” He agrees, his tone a touch softer as he thinks about it. But he doesn’t dwell on it long as he tilts his head toward her with a twitch of a grin. “It still surprises me, if I am honest.”
They drift further in, and the butcher remains loose and on edge as he listens to the surrounding woods. Since greets them, as does some tired bird calls and the quiet croaks of a frog. But when a twig snaps, the butcher perks up, steps hesitating as he pinpoints the direction of the crack despite the echo. “You are welcome to join me, darling. If my hearing is to be believed, we have a lone wolf ahead.” He whispers, loosening the hold on her arm as he reaches to snag a pair of daggers from his ankles. Their blades glint in the lowlight of the trees as he combines them into one hand so he might be able to further loosen the already loose shirt he wears.
Growing silent and pinpointing the sound once more, he holds up his hand toward Flora in a 3… 2… 1. When the count down is finished, the butcher moves. Each step prepped and ready, already reaching (and slicing) for the bloodbane to incapacitate the wolf before they break into line of sight.
Astaroth
Don't you look back, every bone in my body's bad
