[The scent is on the wind. One that he knows too well. Blaiddyd. He turns his head sharply, scowling to himself, calculating. These men will die, inevitably. By this man's hand, or his own. He just needs to wait, he needs to be patient--
His chain is yanked.
He's smelling this way.
If he just had some blood, he could break free. Even a splash of it would be enough for him. As starved as he is, he's lucky to walk right now. So he stumbles after the direction of the chain, hissing softly, anxiously waiting for his moment.]
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His chain is yanked.
He's smelling this way.
If he just had some blood, he could break free. Even a splash of it would be enough for him. As starved as he is, he's lucky to walk right now. So he stumbles after the direction of the chain, hissing softly, anxiously waiting for his moment.]