gnarnakotak
It's been a while since the fuzzball and the outlaw had a real meeting. In fact, the past few days had been relatively more taxing than usual for a man living off any major Runeterra grid. But at his own behest, he had made a promise a while ago to the young-old yordle, and even if it took a long time, Malcolm was a man of his word. Though, unsurprisingly, it would take a while to find a predator who lives primarily in the jungles. A small fire and a log to sit on were his only companions until nightfall, whittling away a small chunk of wood into a small carving.
Eventually the small crackling of twigs -- possibly the yordle's interest in the smoke, or even just some other passing creature (though this wouldn't pass his mind, as the sound was too out of place for a passive animal) -- shook him back into focus, as he turned to see that small skull peering from behind a small assortment of leaves. It wouldn't be beyond the hunter yordle to possibly not notice his prey. Or maybe he was already starting to learn the training Graves trudged all the way out here to teach. Or... several other variables in the situation. "Fuzzball," was all he spoke out to the foliage while returning himself to his carving.
