The Prince finds that he was built for this. In a harsh, cold, vicious world that has quickly turned violent, he has spent years managing to survive and to help those along the way that he can. He has moved and moved, assisted. (Had seen one bite him, truly, had felt teeth sink into his flesh and had felt no different. He had watched the thing writhe and die and it had not gotten up again. It had remained dead as Alana stayed immobile.
She had not become anything else. But what else could she be? The Creature, that is all, is fearless. And so when he suggests caution to the other it is out of a place of worry and concern. Of gentleness and of tender, breakable fear. And not for himself, but for her. For her.
He takes the rebar into his grip patiently and tugs it over. It’s a smooth, easy motion. And he’s looking across this yard-- this had clearly previously been some family’s supply house, someone else’s safe place, and now, in a world unforgiving where all goes so easily, it shall be theirs. They scavenge. It’s what they do.
“It would be best to--” pause. Sigh, “....Okay. We will both be careful. Is this fair?”
