[If he had hackles, they'd raise. He hunches down a bit, his shoulders back, weighing fight or flight. There's nothing rational about it; really, even that instinctual response is untrustworthy, overwhelmed as he is by the gnawing hunger.
There's something there; if it bleeds, he'll try to eat it. He's desperate enough not to care what. His skin is marred, torn here and there in bloodless wounds, his ears tapering back to a ragged point.
He takes a step back, but he's not running. His face twists into a snarl.]
no subject
There's something there; if it bleeds, he'll try to eat it. He's desperate enough not to care what. His skin is marred, torn here and there in bloodless wounds, his ears tapering back to a ragged point.
He takes a step back, but he's not running. His face twists into a snarl.]