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It was intended as a simple matter, a hunt for branchbau or perhaps an audenheir, he’d managed to shoot one branchbau and hung it in the branches of a tree out of range of scavengers. Hopeful to catch something more, he could hear something deeper in the woods, but without a proper hunting party he had no intent of traveling any deeper.
His father was stewing at home having missed what he had called an shot at an Hernbrau with an amazing wide rack of horns. The animal had gotten away without even being wounded, which was the source of the foul mood.

Zachariah was hoping rather that a fresh stew might change his mood for the better. Especially since he was being blamed for the loss of the Hernbrau, something that was useless to argue. One day he’d stop being a disappointment, or so he hoped. Something cracked a branch deeper in the woods and he lifted his weapon, waiting.

His jaw dropped for a moment, that slack jawed second of horror when you realized that the creature charging down on you could tear you into small pieces without a second thought. It was far too close to risk trying to kill it, he wanted to make his father proud yes, but he wasn’t suicidal. He bolted, not unlike the Hernbrau, praying it was just after the brachenbau that he’d killed, or that at least it would slow long enough to fill it’s stomach with a few mouthfuls till he himself had a chance to climb a tree. If he climbed high enough surely it couldn’t follow, or if nothing else he could shoot –down- at it.

Oh lord what wouldn’t he have given for a proper hunting party just then, or at the very least what wouldn’t he have given to have a father less obsessed with not letting hunters do this sort of thing.

He stumbled then as he saw the creature fall, not quite believing his eyes. His feet kept moving for a few steps more before he tripped over his own boots and landed in a rather less than dignified heap of blue dyed leather and grey fur in the snow. He turned a wide-eyed gaze to follow the path the arrows had taken seeking out the man perched in the tree. Green and soft furs, hair that rather blended too well with his alarmingly white hair. All the same he was damned relieved, his shoulders sagged if only for a moment as he gathered up what was left of his dignity and his own weapon in case the grussbhar had a companion of any kind.
“Thank you, hunter.” He said with a sharp nod of his head, he didn’t know the man’s name of course so the default was to use his title for what that was worth. “Thank you.” He repeated after giving another wide eyed glance around for other marauding animals.

Blunt and verging on rude, that was the distinct first impression, the second was 'dirty' but that was hardly unexpected. His eyes narrowed slightly for a moment before he caught himself and forced his face back into a mask, if a tenser one than it had been a moment before. "Duly noted, thank you for killing it." He said trying not to sound terse.

Something less than optimistically he suspected he'd have been mocked if he'd shot the already toppled bear for waisting arrows, but perhaps that was more the fact he was accustomed to his hunting skills being criticized.

"Outstanding shot really..."he said as he backed a few steps more away from the bear, even with two arrows safely lodged in it he'd feel better if it's throat were cleanly cut with a knife. He fingered his own but didn't want to taint the man's kill. Some furriers preferred that such a mark not be made.

He hesitated unsure if it would be fair or insulting to give the man coin for saving his hide, or if the grussbhar would be coin enough itself.

“How did you even know it was –there? I didn’t even hear it until, well until.” He waved a hand and looked for a moment, deeply frustrated, at himself more than anything or anyone else. “I have a Longharn, I can help you fetch it back to the city, and I can help you clean it if you want.” He offered trying to look dignified. True he was no butcher but he’d skinned enough animals and gutted enough to be a fair hand. Perhaps then he’d feel less utterly useless.

Well, no, he’d probably still feel a damn fool, especially since he kept wanting to back away from the man as well as the grusbharr. The white hair was unsettling, and were his eyes perhaps just a little too bright a green? They were certainly hard not to notice at least. “It’s the least I can offer for, forcing your hand on the kill.”

“Yes.” He said sounding a bit clipped and the red in his cheeks slightly more irritation than cold for a moment, or at the least embarrassment. “Yes I do.” He said more evenly. “And despite making a fool of myself I am not an abysmal shot so long as the animal isn’t closing the distance between myself and it quite so quickly.” He said and pulled out a knife of his own. He blinked a second and shook his head, dismissing the green he must have imagined in the man’s eyes. It had to have been a reflection, else his imagination. The black was not nearly as startling, striking but not as unsettling unless you compared it to the bone white hair.

“I do skin better than I hunt though, at least I have been told so.” He glanced waiting for the man’s permission to start skinning the kill. He might have held higher rank but manners still prevailed. “May I?” He said holding up his knife, nothing so fine as Cleinstone, but a fine knife indeed, and surprisingly simple design given the slightly snobby coat he wore.

The spike in tension wasn’t immediately readable in his face, but more so in his posture, in the line of his shoulders and a brief shift of his grip on the knife. He could have made a pointed reply that sometimes hunters worked together for larger prey. But after a moments tension he let a heavy sigh. “Yes, quite often ‘we’ hunt in packs like we’re pretending to be wulfkind. But sometimes, if we’re just after a bit of stew meat, we don’t bother rousting people, and sometimes, we don’t roust them because they already went hunting and caught only alcohol and bad breath.”

He cut the rest of the pelt free and peeled the rest like a meaty glove and setting it back to rights, folding it carefully to keep the fur clean. Perhaps too blunt a reply, too open, or at the least sarcastic to have been strictly polite. He shifted uncomfortably and then started gutting the beast so that it wouldn’t start to bloat and spoil the meat.

He glanced up at the bird and then back to the hunter with a vague flicker of suspicion in his eyes, if only for a moment. He cleaned his hands as best he could on the cold snow, it made his hands ache but it was better than letting them get tacky or crusty with the blood. When he thought they were clean enough he stood again and murmured, “I’ll grab my Longharn and return in a moment, unless you think I’ll attract more Bharr doing so.”

Just his luck it would turn out that blue enraged the grussbharr.