"Haa… haa…," he grunted, wiping a mixture of sweat and black blood from his forehead.
The adrenaline from the Cobra fight had slowly faded, but his mind remained razor-sharp.
The jungle around him seemed to hold its breath, the usual cacophony of screeching monkeys and buzzing insects dimmed by the lingering aura of the apex predator he had just slain.
But the silence wouldn't protect him for long. The scent of blood was a dinner bell.
"Need… to move," he grunted, wiping sweat from his brow with a bloody forearm.
He looked down at the bundle of black scales in his arms. It was heavy, slick with a nauseating mixture of the snake's natural mucus and the black blood he had spilled. It was disgusting, but to Sol, it was raw treasure waiting to be cleaned up.
He didn't have the time or the tools for a proper tanning process. This had to be crude. This had to be primal.
"First step: cleanup," he muttered, hoisting the bundle higher.
