[Thrall nods and adjusts his grip on his spear. There are little feathers and beads tied to it, some carved into tiny animal shapes, some not.]
Let's go.
[He doesn't wait for Dia and Oscar. He just takes off, far more agile and at home in the woods than he has any right to be. He keeps his head low, dodging major branches and seemingly untouched by the lesser ones. Just. There he go.
He slows down when the calls of swans milling about reaches his ears, and hunkers down behind a thick patch of brush. This ought to be adequate cover. Well. Maybe not for Thrall. But he is green. His blue eyes are set on the distant figures of three or four swans just fluffing about in a farmer's field.]
no subject
Let's go.
[He doesn't wait for Dia and Oscar. He just takes off, far more agile and at home in the woods than he has any right to be. He keeps his head low, dodging major branches and seemingly untouched by the lesser ones. Just. There he go.
He slows down when the calls of swans milling about reaches his ears, and hunkers down behind a thick patch of brush. This ought to be adequate cover. Well. Maybe not for Thrall. But he is green. His blue eyes are set on the distant figures of three or four swans just fluffing about in a farmer's field.]