[Oh fuck, now he has to eat the whole thing. It's right here in his hands. He's no longer looking at it like it's a disgusting hunk of bitten flesh so much as he's wondering if he'll be puking this up later and hate her and everyone else.

Eh, fuck it. He drinks enough alcohol that his stomach is probably capable of handling anything. He's probably got a mechanical liver and a literal iron stomach for all he fucking knows.

So he eats ravenously, like he hasn't been fed ever. Not untrue- it's not that he doesn't eat or can't find the food, it's that he doesn't always remember to. Being a cyborg means that eating and sleeping take up less of your priorities and this forest is making him feel a lot less cyborg than he usually does. He needs to eat fresh, raw meat. He needs to nap in a tree. He needs to not worry about the other shoe dropping.

But that's dangerous. And here's Nott to be paranoid for him while he licks blood off his muzzle and spits tiny lizard bones onto the grass.] You're tellin' me. There were those man... beast... things just outside the sound when we first started poking around. And I ain't seen any of 'em since.