Hunting dem 1/3
He knew that he was a patient, that he should be resting, but the boy was damned if he wasn't going to make himself useful while he was here. Adjusting to a single eye had been a painful process, both physically and mentally but he finally felt himself compensating for the loss of depth perception. He wasn't running into nearly so many trees, nor was he missing nearly so many meals. He would survive this. He knew he could.
His other reason for being out and about was to avoid the Rye girl and her companion (whom he could only assume was the one that interupted him in the thunder bowl. Neither of them seemed to have cottoned onto it in the short time he had been there, but he didn't want to court disaster by giving them a chance to connect the dots. He couldn't know she had no memory of that night, or that he had been clear enough that her companion only knew him by a thunderous growl and a silhouette in the dark.
If only there wasn't so much snow about he could busy himself with gathering herbs for his aunt rather than trying to run down rabbits. He had eyes on their warren now, bold fat bunnies sitting out in the open just waiting to be pounced on, but he wouldn't move yet. He still wasn't close enough.