Ripred has waited two years for this.
He wouldn't say that he's absolutely delighted to be here — saddled with score of idiots for rats that he will soon have to trade for a score of stupid, standoffish pups — but still, it has been a wait, and it has certainly not been particularly amusing to bend his head to that slick bastard of a king who calls himself Gorger.
What is amusing, however, is the trick he's going to pull soon. Really, there's no particular need for it — likely, Vikus will be disappointed with him, and Solovet— well, she'll be pissed.
But oh, Ripred is not going to just waltz up and announce himself as the gnawer beside, the most excellent guide, an extraordinarily funny guy who may strip you to your hide if you try taking him in a fight—
Really, how has his excellent poetic skill not been recognized yet? And those fools go around sucking up to that dead slaughterer Sandwich.
No, jokes aside, Ripred wants a chance to size his future allies up. To see what they're made of. And of course, the warrior himself.
So, score of idiots following in his wake, Ripred sniffs out the quest party. He charges onto a riverbank and snarls — in Human, of course, to inspire extra fear in the pup — "Kill him!"
The pup in question is… not much of a sight. A gangly boy, a glowing hat on his head and a baby in his arms.
But is is the Overlander, the one who resembles the man they have locked up in a pit in the rats' lands, and thus, he is the warrior.
Sandwich said so, after all.
It really is a waste — all the pups with the world placed on their shoulders because Sandwich said so.
Unfortunately, Ripred needs these pups and Sandwich said so if he is to make his plans work out.
So he lets Vikus knock him in the river as his score of idiots scream on the blades of the Underlanders — and all the while, he keeps his focus on the would-be warrior.
Ripred smells his fear — it is raw, and intense. It is the fear of death on one's heels, of water flooding the caves. It is a fear that a pup should never know, but must know, for the world is a cruel, cruel place.
Yet there is something else there, too — the boy does not only fear for himself. He fears for those at the riverbank, too. Even as he runs, knowing that he can't turn back, he believes that he should have stayed.
Ripred smells guilt.
It's familiar.
He growls, grinding his teeth against one another. The churning water grates against his fur. It reminds him of another time, and other pups.
Then the river washes him away from the bank and the pups he will have to cooperate with later.
