[Watching Hector come back to life at a crawl, lazily gesturing around, Isaac feels something approaching relief - if Isaac can, for anything - that Hector is the one to shatter their silence, and more matter-of-factly than expected. Neither of them daring to touch what happened between them. Such is the way it would be for the rest of his life, if he had any choice in it. Some things are better taken to the grave.
Physical and emotional exhaustion have taken their toll and left him without much of an appetite. He hadn't thought to check Hector's pack for the meat he claimed to have brought. Hadn't even remembered it. It feels like a long time ago when Hector found him here, fighting to breathe, fading out.
He scrubs a hand down his face.]
Do I look like your servant?
[He asks, his voice hollow, raw. But he stands eventually, after a moment too long to seem like he will. The slanina smells good when he unwraps it by the fire, preserved between the cooler temperatures and the curing process. He wipes the blood - his and Hector's - off his knife onto his leg and slices off a small piece, stabbing into it and biting it off. The fat itself is smooth and rich in the way nothing he'd eaten lately really has been, the meat soft and the rind pleasantly chewy. He makes more cuts from there, slicing strips before sheathing his dagger into the remaining hunk of meat and letting it rest there, idly sucking the grease off a fingertip.]
no subject
Physical and emotional exhaustion have taken their toll and left him without much of an appetite. He hadn't thought to check Hector's pack for the meat he claimed to have brought. Hadn't even remembered it. It feels like a long time ago when Hector found him here, fighting to breathe, fading out.
He scrubs a hand down his face.]
Do I look like your servant?
[He asks, his voice hollow, raw. But he stands eventually, after a moment too long to seem like he will. The slanina smells good when he unwraps it by the fire, preserved between the cooler temperatures and the curing process. He wipes the blood - his and Hector's - off his knife onto his leg and slices off a small piece, stabbing into it and biting it off. The fat itself is smooth and rich in the way nothing he'd eaten lately really has been, the meat soft and the rind pleasantly chewy. He makes more cuts from there, slicing strips before sheathing his dagger into the remaining hunk of meat and letting it rest there, idly sucking the grease off a fingertip.]