[He doesn't know that most of these people are used to better living conditions. Their tents and huts pieced together from fabric and sticks and mud, they're more familiar to him than the metal shell that Esca crawled from. This could almost be his village. Almost.
He doesn't know these people, but that hardly matters when he's lost his own. Esca watches for a short while before approaching the nearest campfire, crouching to take over the cleaning of whatever they've managed to hunt. If he ends up with blood and gore on his hands, it doesn't seem to bother him.
It's the price you pay for eating.]
Exploration
[The jungle smells only a little like the woods he knows. It's damp, but there's a heat to it that he's unfamiliar with. He pushes some of the greenery aside, eyes often wary and uplifted at the sound of some unfamiliar bird or animal. The path behind him isn't clear, but he's good enough at tracking that he'll find his way back.
He stops when he reaches a stream, crouches at the very edge and waits for the fish to come. He doesn't have a spear or even a net, but he doesn't need one. He's been catching fish with his bare hands since he was a boy.]
Come on, then. Just a little tickle.
[Here's hoping he isn't rewarded with a missing finger or two.]
esca mac cunoval | the eagle
[He doesn't know that most of these people are used to better living conditions. Their tents and huts pieced together from fabric and sticks and mud, they're more familiar to him than the metal shell that Esca crawled from. This could almost be his village. Almost.
He doesn't know these people, but that hardly matters when he's lost his own. Esca watches for a short while before approaching the nearest campfire, crouching to take over the cleaning of whatever they've managed to hunt. If he ends up with blood and gore on his hands, it doesn't seem to bother him.
It's the price you pay for eating.]
Exploration
[The jungle smells only a little like the woods he knows. It's damp, but there's a heat to it that he's unfamiliar with. He pushes some of the greenery aside, eyes often wary and uplifted at the sound of some unfamiliar bird or animal. The path behind him isn't clear, but he's good enough at tracking that he'll find his way back.
He stops when he reaches a stream, crouches at the very edge and waits for the fish to come. He doesn't have a spear or even a net, but he doesn't need one. He's been catching fish with his bare hands since he was a boy.]
Come on, then. Just a little tickle.
[Here's hoping he isn't rewarded with a missing finger or two.]