[hr][hr][center][h3][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h3][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Road North of Salarn, Day Three [/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color] Kyra, The Group [/center][/b][hr][hr]

	The broad pugilist kept a wary eye toward the latest of the group's personnel acquisition, even as he accepted the bird from Kyra. After a good, long stare, he gave the bird a hair more consideration. It was a more than fair sized fowl, befitting the season. Must have been a late migrator. Well, the loss of more southern climes was the gain of their unmerry band of mismatched travelers. 

	[color=b8860b]"Right jolly lookin' bit o' birdflesh, this. I'll be needin' someplace off the beaten to gut an' dress it."[/color]

	Though his outward perception was operating with the priority of security, especially now that they were at a standstill in the road, the back of Keystone's mind attempted to work out the best way to prepare the bird. The quickest manner would be to draw and disarticulate the body, and either sear the pieces off in his covered cast-iron pan, or roast over low flame. Either method would require building a fire and letting it burn down for a little while; their stop for lunch would be for at least and hour, maybe two. Perhaps there were little tricks and corner cuts he could do to speed that along, but in the end, heat penetrates flesh in its own time. 

	As long as the heat was doing what heat does, it may as well be accompanied by a dram or two of decent liquor and a rub of coarse salt and black tea. As long as Keystone had to wait on the fire, he might as well keep his hands busy. Keystone felt just a little giddy at the prospect of cooking, if only for a short time. As a smile crossed his features, one made to look sarcastic and/or devious partially due to his scarring, he gave a mote of gratitude and respect to the hunter. 

	[color=b8860b]"Bloody sunshiny job, Kyra. I'll have something proper Goldilocks for us as I'm able."[/color] Keystone produced his go-to knife from the back of his belt; a remarkably well crafted, bone handled seax. He prodded the plucked bird, eyes shimmering with something akin to glee. Yeah, today might not be a total loss after all.