Grimm casts her a glance from his peripheral, dark gaze scrutinizing for the briefest of moments to see if she's being serious. Realizing she is, he directs his attention back to the path. "Hoide is too thick fo' arrows," he says, wondering if she's ever seen the thick bark that makes up their skin. She could maybe fire arrows into the soft sockets of their eyes or into their gaping throat, but the chances were slim - magically enhanced or not.
Her next point nearly makes him pause, wondering if his original assessment of a smart, capable woman had been wrong, because no intelligent person is dumb enough to hunt something like that alone. His head shakes, nearly scoffing as the line of his eyes turns to a scowl. "Aloine? No." A quiet 'r' follows the word, curling it in his mouth like a growl. "No' saife." In case she's the kind who's stubborn, he adds more forcefully, "You git bit, ye bleied out. Bes' have comp'ny." It's not a kind suggestion, but the clear instructions of someone who handles beasts every day and knows the risks and despite the lack of command, the firm line of his shoulders suggests it would be unwise to do otherwise.
The thanks she gives earns another soft grunt, a nod of his head directing her to the exit behind her. At least she seems to understand the point of keeping them separate, but she's obviously ignorant to what the shearing force of an Allogator would look like on skin. His eyes fall to his arm between them, unbothered by her observation or the proximity to his dark history. "Yah, bu' these ain' from a 'gaita'. Go' me in the leig." That wound had healed up nicely. These scars had been made by a monster much worse.
When his eyes lift again, they rest on Colt with a near physical presence, waiting patiently to see if she would ask more or step aside.
Her next point nearly makes him pause, wondering if his original assessment of a smart, capable woman had been wrong, because no intelligent person is dumb enough to hunt something like that alone. His head shakes, nearly scoffing as the line of his eyes turns to a scowl. "Aloine? No." A quiet 'r' follows the word, curling it in his mouth like a growl. "No' saife." In case she's the kind who's stubborn, he adds more forcefully, "You git bit, ye bleied out. Bes' have comp'ny." It's not a kind suggestion, but the clear instructions of someone who handles beasts every day and knows the risks and despite the lack of command, the firm line of his shoulders suggests it would be unwise to do otherwise.
The thanks she gives earns another soft grunt, a nod of his head directing her to the exit behind her. At least she seems to understand the point of keeping them separate, but she's obviously ignorant to what the shearing force of an Allogator would look like on skin. His eyes fall to his arm between them, unbothered by her observation or the proximity to his dark history. "Yah, bu' these ain' from a 'gaita'. Go' me in the leig." That wound had healed up nicely. These scars had been made by a monster much worse.
When his eyes lift again, they rest on Colt with a near physical presence, waiting patiently to see if she would ask more or step aside.
Grimm
Warriors don't show their heart until the axe reveals it.
