Rust's expression is as closed off as ever, but his eyes—his eyes come to life, flicking to the creature, arcing to the trees overhead. The hand clutching the bone tightens, relaxes. For a second, two—maybe even five—he does nothing.
Then he takes a step forward, his posture never faltering.
He closes his eyes, raises his head. Effectively baring his throat. His eyes open without resting on anything in particular. He draws a sharp breath and begins to click his tongue, hum low in his throat. The sounds that reverberated through the island were, to him, strange vibrations intruding on his sleep, so the noises he makes are almost pure guesswork.
(They're also slow in coming—he hasn't used Morse in who knows how long. He's also looking to buy Shaw every second he can.)
no subject
Then he takes a step forward, his posture never faltering.
He closes his eyes, raises his head. Effectively baring his throat. His eyes open without resting on anything in particular. He draws a sharp breath and begins to click his tongue, hum low in his throat. The sounds that reverberated through the island were, to him, strange vibrations intruding on his sleep, so the noises he makes are almost pure guesswork.
(They're also slow in coming—he hasn't used Morse in who knows how long. He's also looking to buy Shaw every second he can.)
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[ Pretender. This is my vessel. ]