Stepping out into the cold of the tundra from the bunkhouse, some kind of gut feeling told him that he needed to practice more caution as he proceeded with his daily tasks. After everything that had happened in the past few weeks since he arrived, one would expect for him to trust that gut feeling.
Though, seeing the small drops of red in the snow, along with the inevitable feeling of concern from deep within himself, he quickly disregarded that worry and followed the path.
At the end of the trail stood a man with a torn sleeve, his arm bloodied and, in turn, staining the ground below him. The man, wearing the garb of a priest, was much taller than him (and he wouldn’t admit it, but it was somewhat intimidating despite taking down the tower of a goddess that was Tiamat), yet he still found himself approaching.
This once, he would show kindness to a stranger.
(What a fool he was.)
“You’re bleeding,” Kingu said the obvious as he came closer to the stranger. “I know of a place where you can get that stitched up. Shall I take you?”
@torejoice