Vincenzo tuts, as he idly grinds down some herbs, before adding a thick liquid, to concoct a greenish paste.
โ . . . Thisโll do. โ
He mumbles to himself, testing its consistency with a claw.
โ You do not even allow them a resting place? โ
His fur bristles, standing on end.
โ . . . You are beyond salvation. A shame. Such strength could be used to protect others, rather than harm them. โ
โ
โ they shoulda fought harder then , itโs just the cycle of life . plus they might make for a good snack after a battle . โ
he shrugged it off , careless .
โ
โ It is not a speech. I am proclaiming my values, that which clearly differ to your own.
To end oneโs life, without so much as a thought, is. . . โ
A soft sigh.
โ . . . Cruel. โ
โ
โ eugh , hush up with the speeches , foxy boy . if they lose against ya , itโs your right to end em .
and if ya donโt wanna .. well , psh . guess they live another little day away . โ
โ
The illusion โmon tuts, shaking his head.
โ Those who enact brutality, are not deserving of the very thing they strive to take away from others. โ
Gathering some herbs, of which, he will be grinding down into a paste, later in the evening.
His life is an idyllic one, but still fulfilling, nonetheless.