Re: Wainright Manor: Hunter R & Damian W
Hunter actually trusted Damian quite a lot, considering they had never met and he only had Damian's word on the connection. Damian was living in the fancy manor under the graceful sway of cultured pines, and also, Hunter couldn't imagine anyone wanting to pretend they were related to his mother if it wasn't true. He didn't have a high opinion of her, or her family, and had made no effort to try to contact her out there in the vague eastern direction of the rest of the continent.
Hunter withstood the scrutiny with the discomfort of a child on the first day of school, the yellow and loose threads of age all the more apparent in the cheap shirt and toes of his boots as time went on and he grew closer. He recognized that Damian didn't think much of him or his appearance, and the cold stare was met with one of faint bewilderment and restrained curiosity. Nobody had told Hunter he 'may' do a thing since his last English teacher in ninth grade, before he dropped out. The presence of the dogs and the reminder that he owed Damian a favor kept his reaction from being defensive. He just blinked a few times and gave a wordless upnod of greeting, like they were friendly in a prison yard.
The slow step came to a stop, and the dogs all halted too. The old one immediately sat, her tongue spotted dark in the white of her muzzle as she panted. It was a long walk, after all. The half-grown collie was tired too, but not so tired he didn't come forward to inspect Damian's shoes as Hunter dug into the canvas bag to pull out his sweatshirt. Then he offered the tupperware-wrapped-in-grocery-bag out to Damian, expectant he would be receptive and familiar with the custom. "Beef stew. Made it last night. S'good." Prod of bowl in the air between them. Becky, sitting on Hunter's other side, followed the path of the bowl with her nose.