Desperate times indeed. He never thought he'd see the day where he'd be making deals with ferals. If the circumstances weren't so...delicate, he would've shot Miles on sight. Maybe he still should. The hunting rifle strapped securely to the saddle of his horse is unloaded, for now, but that can change. Miles knows that full well. He's certain the savage feels just as uneasy as him.
Still, there's a part of Gunnar that needs to see this through. When the strange feral reached out to him, explained what was going on, what he wanted from him, the man hadn't believed him. But Miles' descriptions of his son—presumed dead, perhaps hoped dead—were too accurate, too detailed to be fabricated. Call it morbid curiosity. He had to see for himself.
"You are certain that's my son in there?" he says, voice low and tinged with a foreign accent, his cadence almost melodic. Gunnar watches the savage approach him, carrying a wriggling baby in his arms. His first granddaughter. The thought of how she came into this world makes him feel ill. With the butt of his pipe, Gunnar pushes the wild curls out of her face, frowning as he studies her features. "She looks almost...human."
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Date: 2023-12-22 04:16 am (UTC)Still, there's a part of Gunnar that needs to see this through. When the strange feral reached out to him, explained what was going on, what he wanted from him, the man hadn't believed him. But Miles' descriptions of his son—presumed dead, perhaps hoped dead—were too accurate, too detailed to be fabricated. Call it morbid curiosity. He had to see for himself.
"You are certain that's my son in there?" he says, voice low and tinged with a foreign accent, his cadence almost melodic. Gunnar watches the savage approach him, carrying a wriggling baby in his arms. His first granddaughter. The thought of how she came into this world makes him feel ill. With the butt of his pipe, Gunnar pushes the wild curls out of her face, frowning as he studies her features. "She looks almost...human."