Amber Waves

Granger shrugged the question off without as much as a second thought. A plant was a plant, what did he care how a plant felt? They were only there to serve the purpose that man gave them. Was he supposed to believe that the flora man grew in within the confines of their farms were supposed to cry when their roots were pulled from the dirt? Surely the man in front of him, ragged as himself, had a few more screws loose than the average Natural or Outlander after what he'd heard about the Spire debacle.

Bright eyes not yet dulled by the endless dirt and grime he had grown accustomed to, narrowed at the stranger in front of him. Even those who hunted had to be aware of the Attuned of the world. Not everyone was blessed by the Old Gods to be something cooler than a field mouse. The moments it takes for him to answer isn't done out of rudeness, the silence dragging, as his past behavior would have one believe. During his pause he holds out his hands, counting backward starting from five, putting one finger down every so often, before having to restart after losing count.

"Five years ago, mister. I think. 'm not so good with numbers." Granger shrugged, avoiding eye contact as he kicked the ground again. "I usually keep to the shade of the forest and run through the tunnels other animals have made. Safer that way, I guess."